


Colours of Love Part 3

by shinyhill



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Male Homosexuality, Multi, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhill/pseuds/shinyhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this section...Fenris and Anders getting along, terrible things happen...not sure what will happen next!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cocoa and Burnt Gold

**Author's Note:**

> woops, my hand slipped and smut happened....Well, it was about time, really! Anders makes Fenris feel good, and vice versa.  
> Oh...and just a random note from my research on wolves - did you know that when they have sex and are knotted, they lick their partner's faces...this may have influenced me a little!
> 
> If you like my writing, please feel free to bribe me for more by donating towards a cup of coffee! https://ko-fi.com/A20836M (also please feel free to request anything at my tumblr - shinyhill.tumblr.com!

Anders opened his eyes, blinking in the morning sunlight shining through the hole in the ceiling. Running a hand down the burnt gold and cocoa bedspread, he wondered if it had been in the rundown mansion, or whether Fenris had bought it. The bed was surprisingly comfortable – well, any bed would be comfortable compared to the cots in his clinic.

The room was large, the bed taking up one small corner. Two red and gold wardrobes took up two of the other corners, and a fire burned in the grate under a mantelpiece on the wall opposite the bed. There was a wooden table by the fire, with a bench seat. He raised his eyebrows at the lute resting by the leg of the seat, wondering if Fenris played. Speaking of Fenris, the elf was nowhere in sight. Anders lay back, stretching, before dragging himself out of bed. He had slept in a tunic and pants and was a rumpled mess, his hair poking up all over the place. He was dragging a hand through it when he heard a bang and swearing in Tevene from downstairs.

Fenris was setting a desk upright when Anders came rushing down the stairs. He kicked the leg of it in a fit of temper and swore again when he hurt his bare toes. Anders giggled. “What are you doing, you crazy elf! It’s too early in the morning to be moving furniture,” he said. Earning a scowl from Fenris, who was holding his toes in one hand and hopping on the other foot. Seeing the warrior so disgruntled sent Anders off into another giggle, and made Fenris’ face red, whether from embarrassment or anger Anders couldn’t tell.

“I am setting up,” Fenris said eventually, and if anything he got redder. Anders looked around. Fenris had apparently been at this for some time. There was a desk and chair, a sofa, and two long tables, all set haphazardly in the large area between the staircases on the ground floor. “I can bring in some bookshelves, and…and anything else you might need.” He was definitely redder, even the tips of his ears were crimson now. He shuffled his feet as Anders came closer. Anders looked around, at a loss to what Fenris might be setting up for – was he planning to invite people over? He wouldn’t need a desk or bookshelves for that.

“What are you…?”

“I thought that…maybe you could run a new clinic from here,” at the shocked look on Anders face, Fenris stumbled for words. “Or if…if you’d rather go back to Darktown there’s still an empty space where we took care of Danzig. You could set up there…but…there aren’t any doors,” Fenris stopped, words failing him as he looked at Anders with those puppy-eyes.

“But how…my patients…,” Anders was still trying to get this clear in his head. Fenris wanted him to stay with him, that was one thing. But to set up a clinic here, in Hightown – how would that even work?

“They can enter through the cellar – it opens up in Darktown like Hawke’s does. But…I understand if you would rather not.” Fenris turned away, shoulders hunched a little. He couldn’t explain to himself why this felt important to him, but he wanted Anders to be safe, and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now he just felt embarrassed, and he waited for the expected criticism and narky comments. Instead he felt arms around his waist, before Anders spun him around and kissed him thoroughly. He tensed, an automatic reaction to the pain that flared through his markings at the touch.

“Oh no, you don’t. You’re not getting away from me that easily this time. You went all wolfy before even giving me a good night kiss,” Anders teased before grabbing his shoulders and backing up, pulling a bewildered Fenris along with him until he fell into the chair, forcing Fenris to fall or crawl up onto the chair and onto Anders lap. Anders grinned as Fenris scrambled for balance, knees coming to rest on either side of his waist in the large wing-backed chair. He raised a hand, tangling it into Fenris’ glossy hair, and pulled him into another kiss.

Fenris relaxed into it. Anders’ mouth was warm and soft, lips invitingly open, and Fenris gave a little lick and nip to his bottom lip, enjoying the soft groan he heard and felt vibrate against his own lips. Anders hand in his hair was gentle, not tugging, just a gentle pressure that he could easily back away from if he wished…but he didn’t wish to. He wanted to stay right there, kissing Anders again and again, soft feathery kisses, followed by deeper ones. He lapped at Anders’ lips again with his tongue, feeling those lips open in response, letting him taste the healer at his leisure. Fenris ran his hands up Anders’ sides, suddenly unsure of himself. Anders was the only person – that he could remember at least – who had ever kissed him like this, and he hated suddenly that Anders was so skilled when he was so unsure of what to do. He stopped, lifting his head to look into Anders’ eyes.

Anders made a moue of discontent when Fenris stopped kissing him, and raised his eyes to the elf’s face. Fenris’ gaze was dark and intense, and Anders wanted. He leaned forward again, capturing Fenris’ lips with his own as he slid his hands under the light linen tunic Fenris wore, stroking softly up his back and down again. That bronzed skin was so soft, unscarred apart from the thin bands of lyrium that tingled at his fingertips. He ran a hand down to Fenris’ waist, raising the other to stroke at a nipple, smirking at Fenris’ gasp as he pinched it gently.

“A…Anders,” Fenris panted. Just this gentle, teasing touch was going to undo him.

“Hmm? Do you like that?” Anders leaned back again to watch Fenris’ face as his hands continued their exploration. Lean muscle, over bones that were still a little too prominent, slim waist, the small of his back and down, fingers dipping under the waistband of Fenris’ loose pants, running down over the smooth swell of his arse. Fenris had moved his hands, arms up on the back of the chair, leaning over Anders with half-lidded eyes. They were both hard, and Anders thrust his hips up slightly, brushing their cocks together through the thin fabric that separated them.

“Want you, Fen,” he murmured. He felt the sudden tension in the body under his hands, and worried that he had gone too far. He watched as Fenris’ ears twitched nervously, but then Fenris was kissing him again, hard, and grinding down against him with a strength that made him groan.

Anders grasped Fenris’ thighs and levered them both upright, ending with an armful of surprised elf. Fenris was heavier than he looked, the lyrium in his body adding weight that Anders hadn’t expected. Still, he managed to get them up the stairs before laying Fenris down on the bed. He looked Fenris over, hunger in his gaze. He climbed slowly up, straddling Fenris’ legs, as the elf looked up at him, a little apprehension in his gaze. “Trust me,” he whispered, and reached to grab the edges of Fenris’ tunic, pulling it over his head, watching as all that lyrium-enhanced skin came into view. Fenris’ hands were on his waist now, and he wiggled forward until he was close enough for Fenris to reach out and do the same for him.

Fenris was nervous. He wanted this, wanted Anders to give Anders pleasure – and to feel it at his hands; but at the same time he was apprehensive, fearing that there would only be the pain he had suffered from Danarius. His lyrium brands flickered as they did when he was angry or upset. He licked his lips, pleased when Anders eyes fell to his mouth. Anders was watching him like he was something special, something maybe even beautiful. He raised his hands, slipping Anders’ shirt over his head, sliding his palms over all that pale, creamy skin. He let his fingers tangle in Anders’ sparse chest hair, interested to see how it would feel. Elves bodies being mostly hairless, it wasn’t anything that he was used to. He pressed down the crisp curls, and smirked when they bounced back up, tickling the palms of his hands. Anders chuckled, then leaned forward to take one of Fenris’ dark nipples into his mouth.

Fenris gasped as Anders’ lips settled, warm and damp against his chest, and tugged on his nipples one after another, just the slightest hint of teeth. His fingers tightened on the other man’s waist, and Anders raised his head, cocking an eyebrow at him inquisitively. “Don’t stop,” Fenris said, and Anders grinned before leaning down to do it again, this time trailing his tongue down, tracing a lyrium line towards Fenris’ waist, stopping to bite gently at the skin around his navel.

Fenris wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, he wanted to grip something…but he didn’t want to bruise the mage. He settled for clutching the blanket under him, tensing his stomach as he raised his head to watch Anders touching and teasing him with his mouth. Anders reached his waistband, and gripped it with his teeth, tugging down until Fenris’ cock was exposed. He ghosted a breath of hot air over the hard length, and Fenris let his head fall back to the pillow with a groan.

Anders took Fenris in his mouth, lips suckling gently while he swirled his tongue around the head, tasting salty precum. He cupped Fenris’ balls with one hand, gently massaging them while he lapped at Fenris’ cock. Fenris’ hips jerked, unable to keep still under his touch, then hands were in his hair, tugging gently until he raised his head. Fenris stared at his reddened lips and tugged until Anders was straddling his hips.

“What do you want, Fenris,” Anders asked, voice low and husky.

“Want to please you, want to make you feel good, Anders. Show me. I don’t want to hurt you,” Fenris reached out, cupping Anders cheek in one hand, eyes wide.

“I’m going to use a little magic. Is that okay?” Fenris gave a small, wary nod, feeling the flicker through his lyrium as Anders familiar magic tugged at his brands. Then Anders’ hand was on him again, slick with grease, and he couldn’t help the broken moan that escaped.

“You won’t hurt me, Fen, I promise. Want to make this so good for you, love,” Anders kept eye contact as he wiggled out of his pants, kicking them away from the bed before tugging Fenris’ pants down and off too. Now there was nothing between them, just slick and heat, and desire pooling in Anders’ belly that he could see reflected in Fenris’ eyes. Reaching down, Anders began to prepare himself, slowly inserting one finger, then two, stretching and scissoring. Fenris watched, mesmerised at the way Anders face betrayed his pleasure at being filled. He reached out to touch, and Anders was taking his hand, pressing his fingers into his tight, slick hole.

“Fen…ngh…yes, right there, curl your fingers, ah,” Anders threw his head back as Fenris fingers stroked across his prostate, and then he was lifting himself, lowering himself slowly onto Fenris’ cock. He went slowly, easing himself down inch by inch until he was full. Fenris was watching the place where they were joined, panting with the effort of keeping still with Anders heat surrounding him. Fenris met Anders eyes. He wanted to see Anders come undone for him, wanted to grip his hips and thrust into him, but he couldn’t stop the niggling worry that Anders would be hurt.

Anders took his hands, and placed them on his waist, leaning forward to kiss Fenris. Anders was several inches taller, so the angle was a little awkward. Straightening, he placed on hand on Fenris’ thigh, and the other on his chest for balance and began to ride him. Fenris was making nonsense sounds, moaning and gasping beneath him, and it felt so good. Anders clenched his thighs, moving in a rippling motion that had Fenris’ cock brushing his prostrate with each stroke, soon he was panting. “Touch me, Fen, touch me,” he moaned, unable to stop as Fenris took his cock in hand, stroking in time with Anders movement. The orgasm hit him hard, and he was painting Fenris’ chest with stripes of come, and shouting his name. Fenris had been concentrating on not hurting Anders, but when he felt Anders clench around him, shouting his name, he lost control. Grabbing Anders hips he bucked wildly, thrusting hard into Anders until he too came apart, coming hard inside Anders. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

For a little while, the only sound was their panting breaths as their racing hearts slowed. Anders was laying against Fenris, head resting on the pillow, face buried in Fenris neck. “You’ve killed me, elf,” he murmured. All he got in response was a deep chuckle and a stroking hand in his hair.


	2. Blue and Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good stuff until - Something bad happens to Bethany. Hawke is losing control. Varric is upset, and Fenris needs to take care of Anders and Justice....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...apparently canon Fenris is 5'7" and Anders is 6'3" - so I'm trying to make the size difference correct - forgive me if I have made an error! I know in game they basically look the same height but...

Two large bookshelves now graced the entrance of the mansion. One had intricately carved wooden doors, and had been filled with the things that couldn’t be left in plain sight – potion bottles filled with the sparkle of lyrium, copies of Anders’ manifesto, books on anatomy banned by the Circle. The wooden doors of the bookshelf were reinforced with strips of bronze, and had a lock with a small key that Anders had taken to wearing around his neck.

The other bookshelf held more everyday items – rolled bandages, splints for broken bones, elfroot and willowbark potions, and bundles of drying herbs. Fenris watched from the top of the stairs as Anders bustled around in his new clinic area. In the past couple of weeks they had worked together to create Anders a space to heal. Varric had called on some of his contacts to build a pulley system with a lift that severely injured patients could be lifted on when the cellar stairs were obviously a problem. So far there had been no problem with Templars or guardsmen.

Aveline had enlisted Hawke’s help with corruption she had discovered in the ranks of the guards, corruption that went all the way to the top. After putting a stop to it, and informing the authorities, she had found herself in the position of Guard Captain, a position that Aveline, driven by duty, had taken to as though it had been made for her. Fenris had had a quiet word to her about the guard patrols around his area of Hightown. Firstly in an attempt to keep an eye on Templar patrols, and secondly so that the guards were aware that Low-or-Darktowners who were travelling to the clinic aboveground would be aware that there was a reason for their presence.

Merrill had been working on a strange mirror that she had brought from Sundermount – something to do with the reason why the clan had wanted her gone, Hawke told Fenris, but was tight-lipped about the reason for why. Isabela was off doing things of her own, chasing down leads on the mysterious relic that she was always looking for. All in all it had been fairly quiet around Kirkwall lately, unusual, but maybe they were due for a break.

The only particularly interesting thing that had happened had been Hawke meeting a Prince. Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven to be exact – although his status as prince was slightly tenuous, given that his cousin Goran had had his entire family killed and usurped the throne. Varric had been the one that pointed him out. Fenris, Varric, Hawke and Anders had been wandering Hightown, munching on muffins that they had picked up from the market. Varric nudged Hawke with an elbow – which was useless really, only coming up to Hawke’s hips as it did, a poke in the ribs would do much better, Fenris always thought. A man was arguing with the Grand Cleric by the Chantry noticeboard, a very well-dressed man. His armour was white and gold over a fine chain mail tunic, fastened at the front with leather and brass buckles. A fine longbow was strapped to his back. There were voices raised, and the man turned away, only to look back and shoot an arrow into the piece of paper that Elthina was about to pull from the board.

“Gutsy,” murmured Varric, giving the man a once over with a shrewd eye. Fenris had to agree, treating the head of Kirkwall’s Chantry in such a way was foolish unless one had the power to back themselves up. After the man left, Hawke went to investigate the paper. Apparently Prince Vael wanted some revenge, and of course the former mercenary was happy to help him with it. Fenris and Anders had bowed out of the team for that one, neither particularly comfortable spending time around Sebastian, who apparently was now a lay brother in the Chantry. They had spent the time moving furniture and stocking the new clinic.

Fenris shook his head to clear his thoughts. Anders was humming as he set his things in order for the day, and Fenris grinned. It was good to see the mage happy, and with a place to heal again. He sauntered down the stairs, and wrapped Anders in his arms. He had finally regained all of the weight that he had lost in the Deep Roads, and Anders leaned back into his strong arms with a happy sigh. Two weeks, two weeks of intimacy, of learning each other’s bodies, of Fenris gradually losing his fear of hurting Anders, and Anders gradually losing his fear that Fenris’ arm would end up inside his chest. They were growing comfortable together and it still surprised Anders every day that Fenris hadn’t thrown him out yet.

Fenris nibbled at his ear, standing on his tiptoes to reach it, and Anders laughed, turning and scooping him up into a hug so that Fenris had to wrap his limber legs around his waist. “Giant,” muttered Fenris against his ear.

“Not a giant, your just a fucking sexy little elf,” he said, and Fenris bit him on the neck in retaliation. He didn’t like being called little, and still grumbled sometimes when he grabbed Anders hair to pull him down for a kiss. Anders just laughed again, dumping his burden to his feet unceremoniously. “Breakfast?” he asked.

“Hmm…let’s got out to the market and see if they have any of those apples left,” Fenris said, and Anders followed him contentedly. Fenris was ridiculously keen on apples, and Anders hadn’t understood until discovering that they were extremely rare imports in Tevinter, and Fenris hadn’t tasted them before escaping to Kirkwall. They were special, because Fenris had discovered them as a free man, because he could buy them himself and eat them when he chose.

Fenris liked to sleep in his wolf form, Anders had discovered. Not only did he feel safer that way, but it dulled the pain from his markings somehow, making it easier for him to sleep. Sometimes Anders lay beside him as a man, sometimes as a cat – they would snuggle together, Anders curled up in the gap between Fenris’ front and back legs. Anders was still working on a lotion for them, he hadn’t forgotten his promise. He thought that today he would visit Lady Elegant and see if she had some of the more unusual ingredients that he wanted. Solivitus would have them, but Anders wasn’t going to enter the Gallows unless he had to – and only then with a full team for backup.

The market was still quiet, some of the vendors still setting up their wares. The day would be hot, Anders thought, the sun had already burnt away whatever chill had remained from the night before, and within a few minutes he could feel his skin pinking in the heat. Fenris wandered around, grabbing a few apples here, a sweet roll for Anders there, a bottle of red wine and another of brandy from a third merchant. They were about to return to the mansion when Hawke came running into the market, his hair a mess, face frantic. Obviously looking for them, he ran straight to the pair, grabbing Anders painfully by the arm and panting for a moment to catch his breath.

“Anders! It’s Bethany, Varric just got word from his contact in the Gallows. She’s…she’s…,” Hawke’s face was distraught and Anders took him by the hands.

“Deep breath, Hawke. What’s wrong?”

“She’s being punished for something! They’ve locked her in solitary! Nobody knows what’s happening. I’m scared Anders, what am I going to do? If anyone hurts her…,” Hawke’s face went from distraught to furious in a flash, and Anders privately thought ‘ _Better, if he’s angry he can think straight_ ’. Justice had surged inside Anders at the thought of Templars hurting Bethany, and he struggled to hold the spirit back, eyes flashing silver. Fenris saw, and was pushing them back into the mansion before anyone else noticed.

Throwing Hawke an apple and the bottle of brandy both, Fenris shoved him into a chair. “Talk,” he said curtly, before turning to Anders and lighting his brands, trying to calm the spirit within. Anders took his hand with a relieved sigh, his eyes dimming back to their usual honey-gold.

“Varric doesn’t know much. His contact is a mage, and you know how hard it is for them to get information, and to get it out of the Gallows is even harder. He got the note last night and came up to my place early to let me know. It just says that Bethany’s locked up, apparently for some misdemeanour or other, and that no more information is available.” Hawke was wringing his hands, and Fenris walked over and uncorked the brandy for him, thrusting it back into his hands with a command to drink. Hawke stared into the neck of the bottle for a moment, before taking a large swig and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Anders spoke. “If she’s in solitary, it could mean one of three things. The first is that she was trying to escape, or…or cast aggressive magic on a Templar. The second would be that some corrupt Templar has it in for her, and yes, that does happen,” he continued, forestalling Hawke’s questions with a raised hand. “The third would be that Meredith has completely lost her mind, or is trying to lure you in for some reason. You’re not a mage, but you do have companions who are, and she’s bound to know about us by now. If we try to enter the Gallows with force, Hawke, you know it will only end badly. The Templars will Silence and Smite Merrill and I as soon as we set foot in there,” he frowned for a moment, then rubbed a hand tiredly through his hair.

“I have a suggestion, and I don’t really like to make it…but…Ser Cullen, the Knight-Captain. He was at Kinloch Hold when I was there. He’s…he was younger then, but he was always one of the more decent Templars. If you took Aveline, and Varric, and either Sebastian or Fenris with you, and approached him…maybe he would be able to get some information. I wouldn’t take Isabela along, her attitude won’t be welcome, and might just get you into more trouble.” Anders seemed weary after making his speech, and sat heavily on one of the benches. Fenris offered him the sweetroll, and stood by him, munching on a green apple while they gave Hawke space to think.

\-----------

Fenris walked along beside Varric, Aveline and Hawke leading the way to into the Gallows courtyard. He didn’t like leaving Anders behind – unprotected. But Bethany, locked away…it wasn’t right. Bethany had been the first mage who Fenris had looked on without fear. Her magic prickled at him like any other mages ( _except Anders,_ he thought, and why was that?), but she was kind, and gentle, and unfailingly fair. Not only that, but he couldn’t imaging sweet-faced Bethany doing anything to actually deserve being locked up for. Previous messages from Varric’s contacts had said that she was doing well, preparing for her Harrowing, helping to look after the young mages. Fenris’ brow creased in a frown as he considered what might have gone wrong. Having learned from Anders what Templars did to mages in their power, he was worried for the little Hawke whom he had only known briefly.

Hawke was walking too fast, forcing Varric and Fenris to jog a little to keep up. Aveline strode beside him, her heavy mail not slowing her down. She had known Bethany longer than the others, had been on the ship that brought the Hawke family to Kirkwall. What was left of it. Hawke never talked about his brother, or his father, and while that didn’t bother Fenris, having no memory of a family of his own, it seemed to bother Varric and Aveline.

They crossed the courtyard to where Knight Captain Cullen stood in his usual sentry position. As Hawke threw himself forward Aveline went to grab his arm, but it was too little too late. Hawke’s fist smashed into Cullen’s unprotected jaw, and the Templar’s head was whipped backwards. Hawke pressed the advantage, literally, pushing Cullen back against the wall behind him and screaming, “What’s happening to my sister!?”

Fenris and Varric exchanged a look and long suffering sighs. This was not going as planned – so much for the diplomatic approach. Varric and Aveline both tried pulling Hawke off Cullen, but it was Fenris in the end who held him back, tapping into the strength of his lyrium to hold the larger man away, while he spat and yelled and kicked to get out of Fenris’ hold. Fenris didn’t like the way that Hawke was changing. Since Bethany had been taken he’d been steadily getting more aggressive, his temper controlling him more often than not. He threw back his head to avoid being head-butted by a furious Hawke, and dragged him further away. Gripping Hawke firmly by the shoulder and the back of the neck he forced him to his knees, grateful for the unnatural strength that the lyrium gave him. “Hawke”, he spat between gritted teeth. “Pull yourself together, you’re only putting her in more danger.” He held tight to Hawke’s neck until the man went limp in his grasp, then cautiously let him stand.

Aveline and Varric meanwhile had been quietly talking to Cullen, who seemed to be taking the entire affair much more calmly than Fenris had expected. He held Hawke by the elbow, just in case of further outbursts, and waited until Aveline and Varric returned to them. He tightened his grip at the sick look on Varric’s face, and when Aveline tightened her lips and took Hawke’s other arm before pulling him from the Gallow, Fenris felt his stomach drop. Whatever they had discovered, it wasn’t good news. Getting Hawke out of here was definitely the best option for now.

Aveline and Varric ignored Hawke’s yells for an explanation until they were off the barge and at the Docks of Lowtown. Hawke was red in the face, but his fury seemed to have spent itself. By the time they had all disembarked he had taken to begging Aveline to tell him what was going on. “Not yet, Hawke,” she murmured, still keeping an arm on him. “Let’s get back to your mansion first. I need to talk to you and Leandra together.” Fenris didn’t miss the way that Varric ran his hand across his eyes, and his apprehension grew. Aveline led Hawke to the doorway of the mansion, before throwing Varric a significant look and leading Hawke inside. Varric lay a hand on Fenris’ forearm, removing it before Fenris could snarl at him. “Come on Broody, we need to talk.”

Fenris followed Varric away, back to his own tumble-down place, but before they entered Varric stopped him. “Listen. It’s not good. Some bullshit story about Bethany attacking Templars, but even Cullen knows it’s not true. They…ahh,” Varric broke off to swipe at his eyes again. “They made her Tranquil.”

“Venhedis!”

“Exactly…and not trying to mess up your cozy little love-nest, but Justice is going to flip his shit when he finds out. So…do you want me to come in with you. In case you, you know, need to control him? Because you do not want him out and tearing Templars to shreds right now.” Fenris swore again, pacing the small entry-way and clenching his fists. Varric was right, Justice would definitely take over when he found out about this…Fenris wondered whether this time he would be able to calm the spirit or not. He pulled at his hair, agitated and swore colourfully in Tevene.

“It’s probably best if I see him alone. Go and tell Isabela and Merrill, and Sebastian. I’ll take care of this.”

“You’re sure?” Varric seemed uncomfortable to leave him, but Fenris nodded. If Anders lost control he was best suited to defuse the situation, and if he couldn’t, he didn’t want Varric getting hurt. He pushed the door open with a sigh and walked in.


	3. Red, White and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice, Hawke and Leandra react badly. Aveline is a gem. Sebastian is helpful. Fenris gets hurt....drama!

Fenris opened the door, and walked through the entry way. Anders wasn’t in the clinic area, and there were no patients around. It was quiet. Fenris headed through to the kitchen and checked the small, garden courtyard at the back of the mansion, before heading up the stairs. Anders was curled up on their bed in his cat form, fluffy tail wrapped around his nose. Fenris put his sword down in the corner, before sitting on the edge of the bed, and dropping his head into his hands.

He knew that Hawke would not let this stand. He would want revenge, swift and violent, and he would want to help his sister to escape. Whether or not she would even come was another matter. The Tranquil were incapable of emotion or free will, but she would remember her brother, at least, and perhaps she would choose to join him given the choice. He darted a look at Anders out of the corner of his eye. His tail had begun to twitch when Fenris sat on the bed and was now flipping up and down lazily. Fenris reached out and ran a hand over his tail, catching it for a moment so that it jerked in his hands before two slitted gold eyes opened just enough to glare at him.

“Wake up, Anders. I have news…” Fenris couldn’t bring himself to say anymore until Anders was back to himself, laying on the bed, still curled up – too tightly for his long limbs, and he stretched and sighed as his spine popped. Fenris ran a hand down one creamy, freckled leg and pinched Anders thigh. The mage was ticklish, and he giggled, curling his long legs up to his stomach again to protect the sensitive flesh. Fenris smirked at him, before frowning again and Anders sat up.

“Hey, what’s wrong, love. You said you had news – about Bethany?” Fenris nodded, and wished that he could bury himself in a hug, but it wouldn’t be safe with what he was about to say.

“Anders, I need you to be calm…” Fenris didn’t miss the way Anders automatically tensed at the sound of that, and he groaned. He was no good at this – how do you break it gently to someone that a friend of theirs was now dead inside? And after what had happened to Karl – there was no way Anders or Justice were going to take the news well.

“Bethany…I don’t know all of the details, so please don’t ask…she’s been made Tranquil.” He had expected it, known it was coming. Still, when Justice burst forth with a roar in his huge, tolling voice, Fenris flinched, his ears hurting with the proximity of the sound. Anders’ body was standing, cracks in his skin glowing with blue light, his eyes an empty silver-blue glow.

“THEY WILL PAY FOR THIS. EVERY TEMPLAR WILL DIE – UNJUST” the spirit raged, and Fenris licked his lips, placing a palm against Anders’ chest and letting his lyrium brands glow to get Justice’s attention.

“Justice! Calm yourself, spirit. There is nothing you can do right now, let Anders back out!” Fenris demanded, eyes locked to Justice’s inhuman eyes, hand still glowing. Justice looked down at the hand touching him briefly. He looked back up at Fenris, rage clear on his face.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY, SINGING ELF! I HAVE NO WISH TO DAMAGE YOU. I WILL DESTROY THEM!”

“No!” Fenris stood his ground, ready to attack if necessary. “Let Anders out, you can’t do anything right now. If you go outside…” no, saying that if he went outside the Templars would take Anders was probably a really bad idea. He thought for a moment. “You will put Anders at risk. Let him out. We will rescue the girl.” Justice simply looked at him, took the hand that was flattened against his chest and, grabbing it, threw Fenris across the room.

He flew backwards, taken aback as always by Justice’s inhuman strength. Crashing against the far wall, he slid down, head ringing. His arm felt wrong, and he realised that his shoulder had come out of its socket. Justice was already heading for the door, and with a pained roar, Fenris activated the full strength of the lyrium in a Spirit Pulse. With a cry that was half Anders, half Justice, Anders’ body fell to the floor. Fenris thanked the Maker under his breath when it stayed there. Dragging himself up, he managed to stagger downstairs to get some water before collapsing onto the couch, his shoulder screaming pain at him. He would remain guard down here. There was no lifting Anders back to the bed with his arm like this. He would just have to wait for the healer to come around on his own.

\-----------

Hawke and Leandra were not taking the news well. It was only the presence of his mother and Aveline that was stopping Hawke from storming the Gallows alone, all his grief channelled into fury. Leandra was crying helplessly, Bodhan ineffectually comforting her with handkercheifs and glasses of water, and pats to the arm. Aveline had sent an urchin runner to Varric at the Hanged Man and another to the Guard’s barracks. While Hawke raged and Leandra sobbed, Aveline tried to keep her own emotions at bay. It was a tragedy beyond what she new how to handle. Bethany, poor Sunshine, still alive but cut off from everything that made her herself. She hoped that Fenris was coping OK with Anders, and paced in the foyer, waiting for someone to come and help.

When the door opened, it wasn’t a guard, nor was it Varric. It was Isabela, tear tracks staining her face and a more sober look in her eyes than Aveline had ever seen. She went straight to Hawke, guiding him up the stairs to his bedroom, and taking with him some of the tension in the room. Leandra’s wails had settled into a low sobbing that hurt to listen to, and Sandal had been banished from the room to look after Hawke’s dog after he’d murmured ‘Enchantment?’ one too many times in a sad voice.

Finally a member of the guard arrived. Aveline quietly ordered patrols to be directed towards the Gallows and away from the area around Fenris’ mansion – if things were going badly there, at least Anders wouldn’t end up arrested and in her office. It wasn’t until Sebastian arrived that Aveline let herself relax. The Prince-come-priest had training in how to deal with grief, training that she didn’t have. She watched as he comforted and quieted Leandra, offering to pray with her, to visit the Gallows and ask for access to Bethany with her. She watched until he gave her a quiet nod over Leandra’s head and let herself out.

Leaning her head back against the door, Aveline finally allowed herself to feel. And to worry. Hawke had seemed a little unstable lately, and she was worried this would put him right over the edge. There was nothing she could do to help anyone in this house at the moment though. Squaring her shoulders, she went to see how Fenris had dealt with Anders and Justice.

\------------

The knock at the door startled Fenris out of a state of reverie. He had been close to sleep, and cursed himself, and his shoulder as he rose to see who was there. So much for keeping watch – he fervently hoped that neither Justice nor Anders had snuck past while he had been dozing. His head ached where it had hit the wall, and he had to hold his injured arm with his other hand to keep it from dangling uselessly.

“Who is it?” he yelled, and was relieved to hear Aveline’s voice in reply. He let go of his arm to open the door, and groaned at the spike in pain from his swinging arm. He should have thought to fashion a sling for himself before he sat down. Aveline pushed in, closing the door quickly behind her. Her green eyes widened at the sight of Fenris, blood in his hair, and one arm useless.

“So…things went as well as expected then?” she asked. Fenris just nodded and slumped back into his chair.

“I had to use a Spirit Pulse to knock them out after Justice threw me across the room.”

“Maker, Fenris, is he upstairs?”

“I really hope so. I dozed off…maybe I have a concussion,” he mumbled, running a hand up behind his head and looking in surprise at the blood on his fingers.

“I’ll go check. Stay there, and I’ll fix your shoulder after I’ve checked on him. It’s going to hurt though,” she said, indecision in her tone. He just nodded and sighed. Today had started so well. He had been happy, his mage had been happy. Now he was injured, Anders was unconscious, Bethany was Tranquil…and he hated to think how Hawke and Leandra might be doing. He could hear when Aveline reached the top of her stairs, her plate-mail clanking. There was a series of noises that he couldn’t interpret, and then she was making her way back down the stairs.

“Still there. I’ve put him into bed. Now, do you want me to help you with the arm, or would you rather wait until he wakes up?” Fenris tried to shrug and winced at his own stupidity.

“Do what you need to do Guard Captain. But I’d appreciate a drink first.” Aveline gave him a sympathetic look and nodded before wandering off to find a bottle of wine and handing it to him. He gave her a small nod, and then she was gripping his arm and reefing it back to where it should be. He let out a strangled yell as his shoulder popped back into its socket. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for Fenris. I’m sorry you had to deal with him alone.

“No. It was better this way. Justice would have hurt anyone else,” Fenris said, head lolling on the back of his chair. Aveline crouched down to look into his eyes.

“I think you might be right about that concussion, Fenris. You should put that wine away. I don’t need to be worrying about anyone else today.” She expected an argument and was surprised when he meekly put the bottle down and nodded. She let herself out as he went upstairs. Now to start planning some damage control.


	4. Dark Brown and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has concussion...memory loss. Anders is sad and Isabela is a true friend - may include references to Varric's chest hair....

Anders awoke the next morning in the bed that he shared with Fenris, with no memory of how he had gotten there. He sat, clutching his head in his hands as he _did_ remember about Bethany. The last thing he knew had been Fenris telling him to be calm, and then telling him that Bethany was now Tranquil. Oh Maker, Justice must have taken over. The spirit was silent on the matter, and Anders held back a sob at the thought of Hawke’s pretty young sister’s life, ruined by Templars. A splinter of blue light crackled across his palms and he pushed those thoughts away.

Fenris. Where was Fenris? Andraste’s white arse, had Justice hurt him? He looked around frantically, relaxing as he realised that Fenris was laying across the end of the bed. The relaxation vanished as quickly as it had come as he realised that the elf was laying face down, still clothed, and his white hair was crusted with dried blood. “Fenris! Fenris, can you hear me?” Anders felt at Fenris’ neck for a pulse, relief making his legs weak as he felt it strong beneath his fingers. He shook Fenris gently by the shoulder, getting a slurred grumble in reply. Fenris’ face turned slowly towards him, eyeslashes fluttering as his eyes focussed on Anders’ face.

Anders found himself on the floor before he knew what had happened. “Fenris, what in the Maker’s name was that for? I was just trying to make sure that you were alright! Did Justice…” he trailed off, concerned. Fenris was staring at him with confusion apparent on his face. And a green-around-the-gills look that had Anders scooting backwards along the floor as Fenris leaned over the bed and emptied the contents of his stomach. Anders pulled a face, standing to step around the mess while he tried to ascertain what was wrong. Obviously a head-injury of some sort.

“What are you doing in my house, abomination?” Fenris said, or tried to, but the words were slurred so badly that all Anders caught was ‘what’ and ‘abom..shn”.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck”, Anders swore to himself, before leaping out of the way to avoid another round of vomiting – if he hadn’t known better he would have thought Fenris was aiming for him. “Fenris, love, let me check on you, you’re injured,” Anders pleaded. Fenris’ wobbled a little, trying to turn his head to look at Anders and finally managing it.

“’M, fine, mage. Get out”, the words were still slurred, though a little more audible this time. _Concussion, he’s got a concussion_ , Anders thought to himself. _Ignore him for now, and heal him_. While this seemed like a good idea, Anders knew better. To cast magic on the elf while he was defenceless, and ill, and obviously didn’t remember that they had moved past ‘abomination’ some time ago – bad idea. Still…he wasn’t sure what else to do. Cautiously, he raised his hands, glowing with the pale blue of healing magic, up towards Fenris.

“Fen, I’m going to heal you now, okay. Don’t kill me,” he stepped closer. Fenris was glaring at him, body swaying as he tried to stay upright. Before Anders could lay a hand on him, he found himself trapped against the wall by Fenris. The elf had lit up and fade-stepped, pushing him backwards, but that was as far as his balance took him. He fell forward hard, straight through Anders’ outstretched arms, then his chest, somehow coming to rest against the wall. Anders squeaked in terror. If Fenris materialised now, Anders was going to explode like an over-blown balloon. He slid sideways slowly, cautiously, until Fenris was no longer _inside him_ , and breathed a sigh of relief. At the same moment, Fenris’ brands flickered out and he collapsed to the floor in an elf-shaped heap.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Anders knelt beside the crumpled elf, letting healing magic flow through his hands and into Fenris, searching for the damage he knew was there. His shoulder muscles were torn and inflamed, but it was his head that was the problem. Anders swore at Justice while he worked. Fenris’ skull had cracked under the force of a blow, and blood had pooled in his brain, swelling the area. If Anders hadn’t woken, he was very much afraid Fenris wouldn’t have been alive for much longer. Carefully he let healing magic slip into skin and bone, shunting the blood away from the damage, healing the cracks in the bone, pulling the skin together. Taking a deep breath, he healed the shoulder injury, scanning Fenris’ body for other signs of damage. Satisfied, he slumped forward, relieved. Lifting Fenris from the floor, he grunted at the weight, always unexpected given Fenris’ height and build, and carried him over to the bed. Laying him down, he was pleased to see Fenris’ eyes flickering open.

“Hands off me, mage! What are you doing?” Fenris struggled in Anders arms, kicking and slapping his hands away until he was backed up on the bed, looking wild-eyed at Anders. Anders took a deep breath, concussed, he reminded himself. Even with the physical damage gone, there could be memory damage that he couldn’t heal.

“Fenris, love, it’s me. Don’t push me away, I’m just trying to help,” he raised his hands in a non-aggressive pose.

“Fine, you’ve helped. Now get out!” Fenris glared fiercely at him, and Anders heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be happening, not when they were finally together, happy together. Not when things were going so well. He opened his mouth to reply, to explain, and Fenris growled at him like a wild animal. Snapping his mouth shut, Anders turned, grabbing his staff and leaving the room. He didn’t want to say anything in anger that he might regret later. There was nothing else he could do for now, Fenris’ memory would return, or it would not, and he would have to live with the consequences.

\--------------

Anders let himself out into the humidity and heat of Kirkwall. He wandered aimlessly for a while, wondering where to go. He obviously couldn’t do any work for his patients today, seeing as he had been told to get out not only of his home, but his clinic as well. His feet led him to Lowtown, and he took a last breath of fresh air before pushing open the door to The Hanged Man. Not many patrons had braved the heat in search of alcohol yet, and the bar was almost empty. The ubiquitous talkative man was wandering idly from one side of the taproom to the other, spouting nonsense, and a couple of bad poets were harassing Isabela in her favourite spot at the bar. He took a stool near her, and hung his head.

A glass of cider appeared, and he spiked it with a frost spell, watching as the glass gathered condensation. Isabela nudged him with a friendly elbow. “What’s up Sparklefingers? Cat got your tongue? Lover’s tiff?”

“You could say that,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “Justice must have…I don’t know…maybe thrown Fenris or something. He had a head injury when I woke up, and…he doesn’t remember, Isabela! He threw me out!” This last was pronounced in a somewhat unmanly wail, that had Isabela pulling him into a one-armed hug as he fought the urge to just cry on her shoulder.

“That’s tough, sweet thing. Think he’ll remember?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes with a concussion, people remember everything, sometimes it takes a long time. Sometimes the memories never come back,” Anders paused to take a guzzle of his cider. “My home is there, my clinic is there…I don’t even have a place to go,” he laughed, a broken, hollow sound. Isabela squeezed him, turning his chin up to face her.

“Look here, crying about it isn’t going to help. But I bet I know what will. He’s going to stop brooding eventually, and he’ll go downstairs and see the amazing clinic he helped you to set up – that’s got to trigger something, right?”

“Well…”

“Of course it will. And even if he’s just confused at first, it will give him a reason to listen to you, right?” Isabela’s soft brown eyes were kind, and Anders gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“I hope you’re right. I…it’s selfish, I know, but I don’t want to be alone again.” Anders frowned, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He took another drink, surprised when Isabela spun him on the stool to look at her.

“Listen sweet thing, you are not selfish – you are the least selfish person I know. And that elf needs you. He needs an anchor, and you can be that for him,” Isabela peered at him, ark hair curling lushly back from her forehead and tucked under her scarf. Her gold jewellery sparkled in the light of the candles on the bar.

“So, I can hold him back?” Anders gave a sort of grumpy laugh, and Isabela chuckled at him.

“An anchor’s not just something to hold you back, sweetie. It keeps you safe in harbour when there are dangerous tides. It holds the ship where you need it to be, steadying you. It’s something that stays with you all of the time, and you can pick it up and take it with you wherever you go – it never gets forgotten or left behind.” Isabela turned, banging her hand on the bar and demanding an ale, giving Anders space to wipe at his eyes for a minute.

“You’re a good friend, Isabela. I hope…I hope you’re right, and I hope his memory comes back – he doesn’t need any more memories taken from him. I just feel so guilty, because Justice…”

“That’s exactly right! Justice is to blame, and not you, so don’t you dare start blaming yourself. Come on,” she said, “let’s go up and tickle Varric awake, it’ll be fun and I get to run my fingers through his chest hair!” Anders giggled and took her hand as she skipped up the stairs to Varric’s suite.


	5. Crimson and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse, before they get better - this is one of those worse chapters...sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR NON-CON SITUATION AND ATTEMPTED RAPE!!! (It's brief, but please skip this chapter if you aren't able to cope with this. If you skip down until you see the first dividing line-------------- you will have missed it and the rest of the chapter is safe to read.

Fenris meanwhile had decided to head over and see Hawke. He armoured himself and set his sword on his back, making his way down the stairs. The sight that greeted him was…unexpected. Shelves of potions, books, tables and chairs and cots – none of which he remembered. Where were the corpses, the mushrooms, the general dust and decay that he had thought to see? What was going on? He rubbed at his sore head. Hawke would know. He could trust Hawke.

He knocked at the door of Hawke’s estate, and waited for Bodahn to answer. His head was still aching, and he felt unsure about everything. Why had the mage been with him? Why had he…yes, he was almost sure he had heard the mage call him ‘love’ – why on earth would he do such a thing? Nothing was making sense today, and Fenris was bitterly unhappy at the thought that he had lost yet more memories. He didn’t even know why his head hurt – nothing was right. He was so confused and miserable that he didn’t realise at first that Hawke had opened the door himself and was standing, watching him with a strange look on his face. Almost a sneer.

“What are you doing here, Fenris?” Hawke leaned against the door jamb, and crossed his arms. “Have you come to talk to me about Bethany too – about how everything will be fine? Because I’m sick of lies, and I don’t want to hear anymore from you.” Hawke stepped back, making a move to shut the door, but Fenris grabbed it with one gauntleted hand before he could close it.

“Hawke? What…what has happened to Bethany? I…I seem to have had some memory loss. I didn’t come here to lie to you. I just thought…I just wanted to talk,” he finished lamely, unsure of what he wanted, other than a bit of friendship. Friendship was something Hawke had never denied him before, wasn’t it?

“Lost your memory? Well…shit,” said Hawke, but Fenris was watching his face and frowned at the brief smirk he saw there. It was so quick that if he hadn’t been so aware he would have missed it. He felt the way he had when Danarius had been angry, when he had to watch everything that he said and did, everything that went on, lest something push Danarius a little too far and it end up in punishment. The loss of these latest memories made him feel hyper-aware, as though his mind were trying to remember everything it could about what was happening right now. Hawke stepped back though, waving him inside, and trusting his friend, Fenris entered.

At first everything seemed normal. They chatted. Hawke told him what had happened to Bethany. Fenris was distressed, and confused – how could he have forgotten something this important – he didn’t even know how this injury had happened. He was frowning and staring at his hands, as though he would find some answer there, when a heavy hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up from the chair where he was sitting.

“Hawke, don’t..wha” his protests were silenced when Hawke’s mouth found his, and despite the fact that Fenris was pushing against his chest, Hawke was a large man, and he simply pushed Fenris against the wall and kept kissing him.

Fenris tore his face away, dragging his head to the side. “Hawke, stop! What are you doing?” Fenris fought to settle his rapid heartbeat, and pressed hard against Hawke, afraid to activate his lyrium and hurt his friend. But to his dismay, Hawke only moved far enough to grab at his ass and thighs and push him harder against the wall.

“Do you like it when he takes you, elf? I bet you’re a whore for him, aren’t you?” Fenris’ ears and face were red with embarrassment and horror. He was struggling with ingrained impulses to submit and obey, against the desire to rip out the heart of anyone who dared touch him like this. That it was Hawke made it so much worse, he didn’t want to kill the man, but he wouldn’t be a sex slave for him either. Hawke was still spouting filth in his ear, grinding against him as though everything were okay, and Fenris felt a scream of frustrataion building in his chest, his throat, his entire body vibrating with the need to do _something_.

His brands flickered briefly as he drew on their strength and he freed an arm, slapping Hawke hard across the face and sending him stumbling back and onto the floor. Hawke looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, blood dripping from his split lip. Then, horribly, he began to laugh. Fenris was still staring at him with revulsion and a fear that he didn’t want to feel – not here, not with the man he had though respected him. He turned and ran towards the door, Hawke’s laughter ringing in his ears. As he ran out of the door, he heard Hawke yell after him “Guess Anders isn’t getting much after all!”

Fenris ran until he reached his home, and slammed the door behind him. He looked down – a single drop of crimson blood from Hawke’s lips was gleaming on his black tunic. He slumped to the floor, letting his head fall into his hands, breathing hard and feeling lost. What was going on? Why couldn’t he remember? He whimpered, and with a frustrated growl pushed himself up off the floor. He headed for the cellar, ignoring the clinic setting in the front room, he didn’t want to see it. But the entrance to the cellar now housed some sort of odd lift contraption with pulleys, and he could see that it must lead to the Darktown exit. Fenris grabbed his head with both hands, wanting to stop the terrible pounding, tearing at his hair he grabbed the first bottle of wine he found and ran up the stairs. When he reached his bedroom though, there on his bed was a small red pillow – not his…did this belong to Anders?

He fled the room with a curse that turned into a whine as he changed form and trotted down the hallway. At the end of the hall was a room that only he ever entered. His secret space, he was sure that even if he and…even if Anders had been here, Fenris was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t have been in here. This was the place where Fenris came to record his memories. Without the ability to read or write, Fenris had taught himself to paint. At first there had been rough sketches, on paper that he had nicked from Varric’s desk, and done in charcoal that he had dug out of the fireplace. At some point it had occurred to him that he had the money to buy paints, and he had taken to painting as though he had been born to it. The graceful movements that he made when wielding his sword meant that he had strong wrists and hands, used to making flowing movements. Painting had seemed like an extension of the sword dances that he had been trained to perform as part of his practice.

The wolf pushed his way into the dim room, a dusty place, the windows covered with blankets for privacy. It was the only room that had an intact ceiling in the entire mansion. Sniffing at a pile of blankets that he had thrown onto the floor, Fenris circled a few time, and settled with his tail wrapped tightly around himself, and fell asleep to the sound of his own whimpering.

\-----------------

It was dark when he woke, but his wolf eyes could see well in the dark. He was surrounded by paper and canvases that seemed to cover every spare surface. There were early drawings of Hawke and his other friends laying in a small heap on the floor, and paintings showing varying degrees of skill pushed against the walls, stacked one on top of the other in a haphazard mess. An easel occupied one corner of the room, and after sniffing around the rest of the room, staring at the pictures, Fenris drew near and stared at the painting, not quite complete, that was on the easel before him. It was Anders. Anders, sitting cross legged in a pair of pants, a black wolf curled near him, head resting in his lap. Anders’ hand was on the wolf’s head, and he was staring down at it with a fond look on his sharp face.

His body was positioned side on to the viewer, and his creamy skin lit by a candle on the floor. The glow of the candle lit up his face, and his side, making his body seem to glow. Along the side of his back were the thin, overlapping lines of whip marks. And just like that, Fenris remembered. Everything, he remembered everything, it was an overwhelming rush, that made his head feel like it was spinning. Every conversation, every touch, every kiss. The understanding in Anders’ eyes, and the trust that he felt for the mage. And kicking him out…calling him an abomination. Anders just…leaving, without a word. It was too much. Fenris ran from the room, and didn’t stop until he was standing in the foyer, staring up, panting, at the moonlight shining through the hole in the roof. He pointed his nose up at the moon and howled out his sorrow.


	6. Oh Maker, I can’t think of any sensible colours for this…wait…Grey and Pink?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK! This is another mostly sad chapter (I'm sorry!!!) and I promise you happiness in the very next chapter. Lots of it! Fluff and sweetness and happy things..all coming up after this.

Anders had stayed for the day with Varric and Isabela, playing Wicked Grace and chatting up his Warden days. It was late in the evening now, as he made his way up to Hightown, hoping against hope that Fenris would be back to normal. That at least they could talk about it, if his memories hadn’t returned. A sound rang out in the dark post-twilight sky and he felt his heart skip a beat. It was a wolf…howling. The sound was full of sorrow, and suddenly Anders legs couldn’t carry him fast enough. He was so intent on getting to the mansion, so focussed on his mission, that he failed to pay attention to the sounds around him until it was too late.

Anders screamed as he was hit by the power of not one, but three Smites, all thrown at him at once. He fell to the ground, agony washing through him from his temples down to his fingertips, tingling as the last of his access to the Fade bled away. Templars, three of them, burly and fully armoured, marched into his field of view, his vision clouded by tears of pain and anger. Justice was roiling with fury somewhere, in a distant part of his mind, but he couldn’t touch the Spirit, couldn’t communicate. He knew better than to try to fight back. Not like this.

The manacles bit into the skin of his wrists as they were roughly attached, and he was dragged to his feet by a heavy, gauntleted fist in the back of his coat. “Got him. Meredith’ll be happy for once. Might even get a smile out of the old bitch.” The Templar laughed, the sound hollow inside the metal helmet, and echoed by the other two Templars. Anders bowed his head, gritting his teeth. He would get through this, he had to. he was not without friends, contacts, in the Gallows. And he knew that Varric and Isabela wouldn’t leave him there if they knew he was taken. He raised his hands slowly to the level of his shoulders, hoping that the Templars wouldn’t notice or care. Ripping handfuls of feathers from his coat he let them flutter on the breeze. As they led him away, the grey feathers fluttered to the ground, and the wolf howled.

\----------------

Inside the Gallows, he was taken immediately to the cells. The walls, floor, ceiling – all of grey stone, clotted with grime and blood, and painted with glowing runes that would suppress access to the Fade after the Smites wore off. He fell hard when they threw him in, landing awkwardly on one shoulder, and he felt something give in his side. A rib? Probably a rib. As long as he didn’t start coughing up blood it hadn’t pierced his lungs. He lay where he had fallen, ignoring the laughter and gibes of the Templars until they left, the last spitting at him on his way out.

The morning brought him no relief. He wasn’t spitting blood, but he was still manacled, and nobody had appeared with food, or even a bucket into which he could relieve himself. Eventually he squatted in a corner, too tired and miserable to even feel disgust as he took care of his bowels and bladder as well as he could without being able to use his hands properly. The stench wasn’t any worse.

Later still, the tiny grate at the top of his cell bloomed with sunlight, and he watched listlessly as the little square of light made it’s way down the wall and across the floor. There was an emptiness inside him that he knew wasn’t entirely from hunger. Without access to Justice he felt lonelier than he had in some time, and he idly wondered if Fenris had remembered him by now, if anyone would come to save him.

It was towards evening before he heard footsteps coming down the stairs towards his cell. Light, not armoured. They sounded like slippers, not boots. He looked up as food was pushed through the gap under the bars, noting absently that if he had been able to change into his cat form he could have escaped without difficulty. His eyes rose higher, robes, dark hair, a fair, pale face. The brand of a Tranquil still pink and raw looking on her brow. Bethany. It was Bethany. he dragged himself across the floor, snatching at her wrist before she could leave.

“Bethany!” He needed her to stay, to listen. She wouldn’t feel anything, he knew, but maybe…maybe…

“Hello, Anders. They didn’t tell me that you were down here. Are you well?” She regarded him dispassionately, so unlike her normal, sunny disposition that he felt like crying.

“Bethany, Bethany please listen to me. No, I’m not well – cracked rib,” he rasped out, throat dry and ribs aching as he drew breath to speak. “Bethany, I need you to help me. I have to get out of here. And Hawke…Garrett, and your mother, Leandra – they wish to see you. To see that you are well. Can you…will you help me? I can get you out to visit them,” he broke off suddenly, trying to make his words logical, rational, as only the Tranquil could be. Trying to stem the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Anders, you know that I cannot let you out. You are here because you are an apostate. I am here to bring you food. That is all.” She tried to stand, but he held tightly to her arm. He just needed some more time.

“Bethany…I need a bucket. For bodily functions. Can you bring me that?” If he could make her return, maybe by then he would have thought of the words he needed to coinvince her. She nodded once, and he let her go, listening as the sound of her footsteps became fainter and faded entirely. He thought hard as he ate, ripping at the food with his fingers and eating without thought the stale bread and bruised fruit that had been provided. Food was a necessity, he had to be as strong as he could be, but it tasted like dirt and ashes on his tongue. Bethany returned far too quickly, and with her, a Templar with a key.

The Templar was armed, armoured, helmeted, and Anders tried to control the snarl that was forming on his face. Don’t antagonise, don’t rock the boat, he told himself as the Templar opened the cell so that Bethany could pass the bucket through to him. She left, and the Templar stayed. Anders tried to quell the queasiness in his gut as he stared into the eye-slit, feeling himself go pale with apprehension. The Templar raised his arm, and in one movement, lifted the helmet from his head. Anders was already backing away, getting as close to a corner as he could manage. It wouldn’t help, but he couldn’t stop himself from retreating.

It was Cullen, his blonde curls reflecting the faint light from a torch in a sconce down the hall. Anders spat at him. “Here to see to it yourself that I’m ‘taken care of’? The mighty Cullen, Knight-Captain of the Kirkwall Templars. It’s a long way from Kinloch Hold, isn’t it Captain?” Anders stared at him defiantly. The Cullen he had known back then hadn’t been much more than a boy – only 19 when the Circle fell to Uldred and his blood mages. Cullen looked at him for a moment and sighed, rubbing a hand down the back of his head, and along his neck.

“Enchanter Anders. I remember you, yes. You were…unjustly treated in Kinloch, and I was too young, still just a recruit, but you didn’t deserve what was done to you,” Cullen breathed heavily as Anders stared at him, unsure of how to reply. “I was the on who brought your meals, most of the time, that year in solitary. Do you remember? We used to talk…I tried…tried to keep you sane. It was a terrible thing done then.” Anders did snarl at him then. Yes, he remembered. The cat, Mr Wiggums, had kept him more sane than this Templar had. Although…if he was fair, he probably would have been a lot less sane without the little bit of comfort he had had from the young man on the other side of the cell door. Cullen, he thought, wonderingly. It was Cullen who spoke to me then, who talked about the weather, and what was happening in the Tower. Anders was taken by a sudden flash of hope, a sharp spike in adrenalin, and he stood stiffly, moving towards Cullen, who stepped back a little, an apprehensive look on his face.

“Cullen, you have to get me out of here. My clinic…you know the work I do. And Hawke – he’s gone half mad since he heard that his sister was Tranquil, he’s losing his mind. You know how much shit he takes care of in this city – he’s done jobs for you before! Maker, please, please tell me that there’s something you can do.” And now he was half-sobbing, Maker damnit-all. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but once he had started, he couldn’t stop the tears that left dark trails in the grime on his face.

“I…I spoke to Aveline, and your friend Varric about her,” Cullen looked incredibly uncomfortable, rubbing at his face and neck again as though the answer were somewhere in the palm of his hand. “I’m truly sorry for what happened. She was a sweet girl. It was that bastard Alric, Anders. I couldn’t do anything.”

“What did he do to her!” For a moment, Anders was horrified at the sound of his own voice, as though Justice were speaking through him, his voice boomed through the tiny cell, and he recoiled from his own anger.

“He’s a sick bastard, and Meredith refuses to listen to reason. He was…he was ‘playing’ with some of the young mages. You of all people know what I mean, Anders. Bethany tried to intervene, and he had hber pulled in front of Meredith the next morning for attacking a Templar. She didn’t hesitate with the brand. I think she was happy to do something to hurt Hawke. She…dislikes control being wrested from her – as if Hawke has done anything but good!” Anders’ mouth was hanging open, and he snapped it shut so hard that his teeth clicked together painfully.

“Can you help her, me…can you help us, Cullen?”

“I’ll do what I can. I’ve kept Bethany safe – anyone who gets near her will answer to me. I’ve tried Anders. I haven’t always been the best…and after Uldred…he tortured me, and I haven’t had the best attitude towards mages, but nobody deserves the shit that Meredith is putting them through. I’ll do what I can. Let me see if I can talk to your friends and…I’ll do what I can.” As though realising that he were repeating himself needlessly, Cullen stepped back, dragging his helmet on, and locking the door behind him. He trudged away, armour and boots making a clanking echo that took a long time to fade from Anders’ mind.

\----------------

Varric didn’t jump when Fenris shouted at him from the doorway, nor did he spill his ale. He had been waiting for this…well, hoping for it at least. He had news, and now he had someone to give it to.

“Dwarf, where is the healer?”

“Blondie? He was here yesterday – after you kicked him out…remember any of that now?” Varric poured a goblet of wine and shoved it along the table to Fenris, somewhat horrified when Fenris downed the lot in one go.

“You alright there, Broody?” He noted the slight shaking in Fenris’ hands, visible right up until the point where he dropped his white head into his hands, shaking it and then groaning.

“My head…it aches. I remember…I remember that I shouldn’t have made him leave. Hawke…told me about Bethany,” Fenris looked up with confusion in his face. He tugged at a pouch on his belt, pulling out a handful of grey feathers and dumped the on the table. “I found these by the stairs to Hightown, Varric. Where is he?”

“Well…shit,” Varric scratched his chest hair, and sat on the bench. He ran a gloved hand over the feathers, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking for bloodstains. They were definitely from Anders’ coat – soft and worn, both of them saw them almost every day. This wasn’t what he had been expecting. “No idea, Broody. He left here last night to return to you – I’m guessing he didn’t make it?” Varric raised an eyebrow, getting nothing but a dull stare in return. Fenris didn’t look so good, his skin paler than normal, he was holding his head again as though it really were paining him.

“Templars?” asked Varric, voicing the thought that was in both their heads. Varric had stopped paying the Carta to keep an eye out on Anders since he had moved in with Fenris. Certainly Fenris’ mansion, and his sword, would keep him safer than anyone in Darktown could have. “So…I was planning on telling you what the Knight Captain told us about Bethany, but looks like we have more to talk about,” Varric sighed, short fingers running through the feathers on the table-top again. He turned to rummage in the low closet beside the table, and tossed a healing potion towards Fenris. “You look like you could use this, Broody.”

Fenris pulled the cork out and swallowed the potion without even looking. Varric could have poisoned him, and he wouldn’t have cared. He was miserable, his head was aching with deep sort of pain that wouldn’t settle, and he had thrown out the only man he’d ever trusted enough to care about. And now…Templars had Anders. There was little to prove it, but they had been after him for years, and those feathers were definitely from his mage’s coat. They smelled like him, like elfroot and willow-bark and blonde hair warmed by the sun. Bethany was Tranquil, Anders was in the Gallows, Hawke had…he shied away mentally, no he didn’t even want to think about Hawke. Which of course is why it was the next word out of Varric’s mouth.

“Hawke needs to know, he can help us get Anders out,” Varric had barely finished speaking but Fenris couldn’t hold back the words.

“No! We are not involving Hawke! That man…that man…he doesn’t need to know. We do this with Isabela and Merrill, and Aveline. Sebastian even. But I don’t want to see Hawke. He doesn’t…he’s not himself.” Fenris’ words ran together in a way that was so uncharacteristic of his normal stoic demeanour that Varric was taken aback. He gave the elf a shrewd look, something had happened. Fenris normally gave Hawke a lot of leeway, and plenty or respect – Hawke had rescued him from slavers at their first meeting, and that had always carried a lot of weight. For Fenris to be so vehemently against him now…Varric wondered exactly what Hawke had done to upset Broody so much. Nothing good, he was sure of that. He made a note to visit Hawke later. Right now though, there were more important things to do. He ducked outside, leaving Fenris brooding at his table, and paid a handful of urchins to fetch the other members of the team. He hesitated a moment about Sebastian, but in the end figured that another rogue would not go astray. Say what you like about Choir Boy, he knew his way around a bow.

\------------

By the time everyone had gathered, it was well past midday. They sat around the table, Merrill keeping up a conversation with Isabela, because nobody else felt much like talking. The tramp of booted feet on the stairs is nothing out of the ordinary, not until a man they all recognise enters the room unannounced. He’s dressed casually, in leather boots, and dark pants, a dark shirt with a leather vest buckled over his chest. His curly blonde hair is half hidden under a Ferelden style cap. But it’s definitely Knight Captain Cullen, and Varric quietly readies Bianca under the cover of the table top.

Fenris was on his feet, quivering with anger and looking ready to kill, and Varric sent a glance Aveline’s way. She grabbed Fenris, heedless of the growl and pulled him back into his seat. Cullen still stood awkwardly in the doorway and Varric waved him forward to the chair that normally Hawke would sit in. He sat awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable and unsure where to begin.

“Knight Captain, is there a problem?” Varric silently blessed Aveline as she took control of the situation.

“No, ah, I…I thought that I might find you here. Um…Hawke’s companions. The recruits tell me that he spends his spare time here, and I…uh…I have some news about a mutual friend.” Cullen had turned red, and Varric almost felt sorry for the man.

“Mutual friend? And who would that be?” he said, pushing a mug of ale forward. “Good Ferelden ale, that. I understand you come from there?” Varric watched as Cullen blushed even redder, and toyed with the mug, fingers tapping restlessly.

“Ah…yes…I understand that Hawke is a friend of Anders, and I…hah! Well, maybe not a friend, but I knew him from Kinloch Hold. I was a recruit there.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Varric replied, offhand, as though the subject hadn’t had everyone but Merrill going as tense as stretched wire. Fenris’ hands were curled into tight fists on the table, and his eyes hadn’t left Cullen’s face once.

“He was…Maker, he is a good man, and I know the work that he’s been doing for the people of Darktown…among others. I, uh, I’ve been looking into his present…situation…and I must confess to a little confusion. I believed that he was one of you…er, that is to say, one of Hawke’s friends. But the thing is…apparently Hawke was the one who tipped off the Templar patrol on where to find him.” If Cullen had stripped and begun dancing on the table, there couldn’t have been greater shock.

Fenris immediately stood and strode out of the room, nobody tried to stop him. The look on his face was enough. Varric swore, Isabela swore, Merrill gasped and tried to make Isabela explain why, Aveline just thinned her lips, a quiet fury simmering on her broad face. Even Sebastian appeared horrified, a quiet prayer to the Maker for mercy audible around the table.

Cullen raised his hands and ordered quiet – the embarrassed façade falling away to remind them all that he held a position of authority after all. His shout had them all quieting, and only then did Varric ask for answers. “If you’re here, I really hope it’s to tell us that you’re going to help get our friend out of there?” It sounded like a question, but also a gentle threat. Cullen’s commanding attitude fell away again, a troubled look on his face.

“What I need to know, is why? Has Anders turned to blood magic? Is there some reason why Hawke has turned him in? Because, Maker knows I don’t like the man too much, but he seemed honourable – protective of his friends, you know?” Cullen’s voice was almost pleading, he obviously wanted to understand.

“Oh, no! Anders would never do something like that. He hates blood magic,” Merrill piped up from her corner of the table, and Isabela quickly distracted her before she outed herself as a blood mage. Varric lay a hand on the table to steady himself before he answered, licking his lips and considering his words carefully.

“Let’s just say that Hawke…hasn’t been himself lately. Since his sister…” he trailed off, letting Cullen connect the dots himself.

“That was an extremely unfortunate incident,” Cullen began, and Aveline snorted so hard Varric thought she might have hurt herself. He hadn’t envied her the task of breaking the news to Hawke and Leandra, not one bit. “So…the thing is…I want to help – both of them,” Cullen quickly explained, before anyone could interrupt. Merrill in particular was practically bouncing in Isabela’s lap now as the pirate whispered rapidly in her ear.

“But, well obviously I can’t be seen to be helping. Meredith is…she’s not right anymore, and I am wondering how far she will keep pushing. Not just the mages, the Templars too. My vows are clear, but she…well, let’s just say she is challenging my ability to accept her authority on a daily basis.” Cullen sighed, fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table again.

“Anything you can do would be much appreciated,” Varric said drily. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. For Cullen to be offering any assistance was a tremendous surprise, and dangerous for all of them.

“I understand you know a young recruit by the name of Keran,” Cullen said suddenly, the apparent non-sequitur making Varric blink before nodding.

“Hawke helped him out a while back, saved him from some blood mages.”

“Yes, he’s a good kid, a good recruit. I don’t think he’s very safe here in Kirkwall. Perhaps a change of scenery would do him good. Perhaps Starkhaven, or Ferelden would be a nice change of pace. Do you have any idea where he could perhaps find a ship, or a caravan to help him on his way?” Cullen asked, tentatively. Varric nodded, flicking a quick glance at Isabela as he did so. Her tiny nod in return showed that she understood.

“I’m sure we could help the boy out. Isabela here can find a ship for him with no trouble. And he needs any guards, well, I have contacts in the Carta who would be happy to help out.”

Cullen took a deep breath. “Right. Well, it might be a good idea if someone could meet him. Say at the Foundry in the Docks where Hawke found him last time. Tomorrow evening?”

“Anything you say, Knight Captain, happy to be of service.” Varric stood, and Aveline accompanied the Knight Captain to the door. Now to find Fenris and make some plans.


	7. Rose and Indigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get out of Kirkwall! A rescue, and a boat....

Fenris hadn’t gone to confront Hawke, as Varric thought he might have. He was sitting quietly at the Docks when they found him, feet hanging over the dark water. To Varric he appeared to be lost in contemplation, but his ears twitched as Varric approached, and he shifted slightly, making space for the dwarf at his side.

“Cullen’s helping us get them out. Tomorrow,” Varric said without any preamble. He was aware that Fenris didn’t appreciate meaningless conversation. Fenris grunted, sighed, ran the bare palm of his gauntleted hand down his face. So many tells, thought Varric, there is definitely something…more than just the Anders situation…wrong with our stoic broody elf.

“Want to talk? My room’s empty, and there’s a bottle or two of Agreggio Pavali with your name on it,” he let silence fall after he’d spoken, waiting for Fenris. Eventually Fenris stood, holding out a hand to Varric to help him up. The twilight sky was deepening to indigo, and stars were beginning to show. They walked back to the Hanged Man in companionable silence.

It took a few glasses for Fenris to loosen up, and Varric made sure to keep the wine flowing, his own glass mostly untouched. After an hour or so, and well into the second bottle, Fenris finally looked at Varric, the expression on his face stuck somewhere between pleading and angry. “Why would Hawke do this? Anders has never done anything to deserve this…this betrayal,” Fenris’ expression hardened into anger, and Varric filled his glass again.

“Broody, your guess is as good as mine. He hasn’t seemed himself since Bethany…even before that. Since you took up with Anders he’s been getting more and more antsy. But this…this is a whole new level of shit,” Varric looked up just in time to catch something flicker across Fenris’ face at the mention of him taking up with Anders, and decided to pursue the matter while Fenris was still talking. “Any reason you were so intent on him not coming along today?”

Fenris ducked his head, fists clenching so hard around his glass that Varric feared he would end the night pulling out glass splinters. He seemed to realise what he was doing though, and drew his hands away from the glass, his fingers trembling. “I do not wish to speak of that,” he spat, furiously, face set in a fierce scowl.

“Hey, no problem, Broody. I’m here to listen if you want to talk – if you don’t,” he raised his shoulders, palms up in a shrug. “Want something stronger?” He switched out the wine for apple brandy, knowing Fenris had a weakness for apples. He felt momentarily guilty at trying to deliberately get the elf drunk, but if Hawke had fucked over more than just Anders, he _would_ find out, and Bianca and Hawke could have a little chat. Varric was a patient man, and he’d invested a lot of time and money, and a lot of stories in Hawke, and if the man was going to turn bad, he wanted to know now.

The two wine bottles had been discarded some time before, and the apple brandy was perilously close to empty. Varric was helping a semi-conscious and very drunk elf into his bed when Fenris grabbed his lapel and suddenly gave him a piercing look. “Don’t…don’t let him near me, dwarf,” he rasped, slurring his words. “Tried to make me…make me…” Fenris slipped into drunken sleep before he could finish the sentence and Varric dropped him unceremoniously onto the quilt, shoving his feet onto the bed. He frowned down at the comatose form in front of him, Fenris’ mouth open in sleep, limbs flung out gracelessly. Yep, Bianca and Hawke needed to have a little chat. After Anders and Bethany were taken care of, Varric was going to take care of Hawke.

\------------------

Isabela’s door was closed, but the rogue was a light sleeper, and when Varric knocked she was quick to answer. He didn’t have much to say, just a warning to keep a dagger under her pillow that she rolled her eyes at, but he felt better afterwards. Shutting and barring the door, he spent the night in his armchair, Bianca leaning against the side of the chair, near his hand. Fenris slept the sleep of the deeply intoxicated, not moving until late in the morning, and then only to groan and clutch at his head while Varric laughed at him.

They were all on edge by the time the sun began to fall, its rays lighting the clouds rose that deepened to purple as they made their way to the Foundry. Tensions were high, and there was no idle chatting, even from Merrill. They were all aware that this could go very, very wrong. There had been no sign of Hawke, no word from him – and while this was a good thing, it was unusual. The last person to see him had been Fenris three days ago, and he still refused to say anything. Varric kept an eye on him, a furtive eye – the elf didn’t like to be stared at. It was something that was unavoidable for Fenris, with his distinctive tattoos, his strange armour, his white hair. Wherever he went he was a subject of interest for passers-by, and his friends tried to respect his need for privacy in return.

Fenris was morose, his head still aching with a combination of hangover and injury, but he walked at the head of the team, ready for violence. He almost longed for it by this point, needing something that he could release his rage on. He didn’t have to wait long. The area around the Foundry was notorious for trouble, and when a small group of slavers – obviously on their way to ransack the Alienage – appeared, Fenris lit his brands and swung his sword with a fury that his companions hadn’t seen from him since they met him. Tearing out the heart of the last, he flicked his bloodied hair out of his face with a feral look, ignoring Isabela’s pretend swooning behind him. “We should move on,” he said, and the others followed, content to let him lead the way.

\----------------

Cullen had come for Anders late in the night. The sun through the grating had long since disappeared, and Anders was struggling through a dream of darkspawn, when the clanking woke him. Keran was there, and Bethany, all but Cullen cloaked and hooded. Anders had no idea what plan Cullen had made, but any chance to get out of the Gallows was worth taking. He took the cloak Anders shoved at him and pulled it quickly on, hood low over his pale face and hair.

Keran looked more nervous than Anders felt, and he wondered at why the young recruit was participating. He recalled then, the way that Keran had been denied the possibility of advancement for an entire decade after being tortured by blood mages – despite the fact that a simple Spirit Bolt was enough to test to see if he was possessed. He wasn’t, but with Meredith in charge – and Cullen he supposed, after Uldred and Kinlock – there was no way that trust would be an easy thing to earn.

he followed Cullen, Bethany behind and Keran bringing up the rear. They descended to a deeper level of the dungeon, and finally Cullen stopped at a small grating set in the grimy floor. “This leads to the sewers, near the Docks,” he said. “Your friends will be at the Foundry where you rescued Keran tomorrow evening. Don’t get caught, and don’t be seen around Kirkwall. I can’t tell you when it will be safe to return, if ever – but for now, for Maker’s sake, get away from the place.” He clapped Keran on the arm, handing him a packet of papers wrapped in soft leather, and bid them farewell.

The way was tight, dark, and dank. If Keran had been in his Templar armour they would have had to leave him behind. The passage looked like an old mining passage, crudely dug and narrow. It was obviously deep, having to pass under the harbour; Anders tried not to think about the stench and the drips from the ceiling, and whatever it was they were walking in.

There was no comment from Bethany, or from Keran. They walked in silence until they reached the main sewer tunnels. Anders knew he had been near here before, helping with the mage underground, but he didn’t know exactly which turns to take. Thankfully Cullen had supplied Keran with a map, which terrified Anders a little. That the Knight Captain knew about such obscure passageways, knew the passages near where he had slipped mages out from under their noses before – that was disconcerting. Either Cullen was aware of the underground and approved, or…or… he couldn’t think of an ‘or’. His head was still light from the magebane he’d ingested with his meal yesterday and he hadn’t been brought food today at all.

They existed at the grate right outside the Foundry, in the hour before the sun rose. Keran hustled them inside into a small room, barred the door, and there they waited out the long day.

\------------------

The Foundry was empty, or so it appeared. Isabela and Varric took point to check for traps, closely followed by Fenris and Merrill. Sebastian stayed outside to guard the door. Fenris had brought a large pack, stuffed with Anders spare clothes and his pillow and sleepwear for them both. Isabela had picked out a ship for them and would accompany them wherever Keran needed to go. Some time away from Kirkwall seemed a very good idea.

They skirted the room anxiously looking for signs of trouble, but there were no traps, no bandits, no slavers – it was almost too easy, and Fenris’ neck was prickling with unease, a bead of sweat slowly making its way down under his tunic. He shrugged, the familiar weight of his sword on his back grounding him. Anders must have had his staff with him when he was taken – there had been no sign of it at the mansion.

They reached a room with a barred door, and Fenris snarled, ghosting his hand through the door to lift the bar on the other side. Three people were inside, cloaked, hooded – one seemed calm but the other two were on edge, and Fenris already had his sword in hand before two voices called out, “Wait!”

Anders voice, one of them was Anders, and Fenris felt his knees go weak with relief. He didn’t sheathe his sword though, waiting until the hoods were removed, and he could see their faces. Bethany’s face, with the pink, blistery Tranquil scar was hard to look at. Anders seemed uncertain, and Fenris cursed himself again for kicking the mage out. He stepped forward quickly, taking Anders’ face in his hands, searching his face – he wasn’t even sure what for. Gold eyes stared down at him anxiously, and without regard to the others in the room, he pulled his mage in for a fierce kiss.

Isabela and Varric decided it was a good moment to confer with Keran. They spoke quietly, discussing destination ports. Merrill, sweet as ever, took Bethany in hand, leading her out of the room with one hand delicately on her arm.

Fenris didn’t want to admit that his hands were shaking as badly as Anders’ were, and he grounded himself with both hands on Anders’ hips, searching his face, his body, for signs of abuse or wounds.

“Fenris, Fenris,” murmured Anders, dipping his head to rest it on Fenris’ shoulder, and he pulled him in for a hug that had the mage laughing breathlessly, warm breath against Fenris’ neck. “You remembered,” he said, finally lifting his head with a lopsided smile. This wasn’t the time for explanations or apologies though, and when Isabela called them, they came quickly and quietly. There were few ships at the dock, but there was one going to Ferelden, and Keran had decided to return there.

They had barely made it to the ship when a woman came running towards them, setting them all on edge until she barrelled directly into Keran. It was his sister, Macha, and it turned out that Cullen had had her notified of the plan for Keran to leave. She wouldn’t come with them, but couldn’t let her brother leave without saying goodbye.

Fenris and Anders were both getting nervous by the time they were finally on board. Isabela knew the Captain, and managed to get berths for all five of them, there was one tiny cabin almost completely taken up with a relatively small bed, the other had only a row of hammocks. With a grin and a wink, Isabela led Bethany and Keran to the hammocks, leaving Anders and Fenris the other cabin to themselves.

\-------------

There were no words between them once the cabin door was closed. They could hear, above deck, the Captain ordering the ties cast off as the night tide rose. Fenris was feeling…he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. A complex blend of emotions – relief, sorrow, a desperate need to know that Anders was alright. He couldn’t speak, and stared at the floor, at his toes where they were curled on the hard, smooth deck. Anders’ hand rose to cup his cheek, and he covered it with his own. When he finally lifted his face, Anders met it with kisses – light, soft, kisses like a caress. Fenris groaned, and grabbed Anders’ hair, pulling him closer, kissing deeper, until they were both panting, sharing one another’s breath.

Anders’ hands were on the buckles of his breastplate, and Fenris finished it, impatient, dropping the breastplate unceremoniously to the floor, and his gauntlets with it. He shoved Anders’ cloak back, and scowled so hard at the sight of Anders’ plain tunic and breeches that Anders’ got worried. “What is it, Fenris, love? I’m right here, you came for me,” Anders’ felt tears pricking his eyes.

“Where are your stupid feathers, mage?” grumped Fenris, and Anders had to laugh. If that was all Fenris was worried about, everything would be ok. He kept laughing, even as Fenris turned the scowl on him, and eventually the elf’s lips quirked up into a half-smile.

“Why Fenris, I didn’t think you liked my old coat,” he teased. Fenris pointed to the feathery spikes that made up his pauldrons.

“We used to match,” he said, turning the full force of his puppy eyes on Anders, and Anders had to either laugh or kiss him again. He decided to go with the kissing, running a hand down Fenris’ side, over his tunic, and then under to feel all that smooth, hairless skin under his palm.

“Then you will just have to provide me with new feathers,” Anders said as he pulled away. “But please…can we sleep now?” he hadn’t meant it to come out so whiney, but he was exhausted. The dungeon wasn’t a place that helped induce restful sleep, and he had been sitting in a locked room with a Templar all day, unsure of what was even going to happen. He was exhausted.

Fenris chuckled, “Fool mage, as long as I can sleep next to you,” he said. As they lay in bed together late, Anders curled up, the little spoon to Fenris’ protective big spoon, he hears Fenris whisper.

“I’m glad I remembered.” And Anders smiles.


	8. Colours are beyond me at this point....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...Something is up with Hawke - just a teaser. And the rest is pure fluff and reunion smut. Sorry (not sorry)

Hawke thrashed in the grip of a nightmare. A black void opened before him, and he fell into it, spinning through nothingness. In the way of dreams, it changed of a sudden, and he was standing, naked, in a long, dark hallway. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all made of stone, a dark grey flecked with red that seemed to flicker as he passed. He walked the hall, afraid and alone. There seemed to be no end to it, and when he turned back, nor was there a beginning.

A woman beckoned from a doorway that hadn’t been there until she appeared, and he followed, unable to control his movements though his mind screamed of danger. There was a whisper, a fall of red that looked like wet silk, sliding from a dagger – no it was blood, his blood. He couldn’t gasp, couldn’t speak, wasn’t sure that he even had a body anymore. He was the silk, drenched in blood, and his thoughts and being spun wildly as though he were caught in a terrible storm, blown by wind and fate.

\-----------------------

The rocking of the boat woke Fenris. The cabin was dim, so small that he could have reached the far wall with a single step. Anders lay beside him, and Fenris curled his arms protectively around him. He still blamed himself for what had happened – with Anders, with…with Hawke. Although, he still hadn’t quite figured out what he had done, it must have been something bad to make his friend turn on him.

He sighed, long and low. Having only a few years of memory to pull from, and most of those spent as a slave in another country made adjusting to life in Kirkwall difficult. There was also the language barrier – although he spoke excellent Common, there were all sorts of little idioms that he still sometimes felt confused about, and, not wanting to appear stupid, hadn’t bothered to ask. Merrill was good for that. Although he lost no sleep over the blood mage, she was at least never afraid of looking stupid, and asked questions incessantly. Fenris had learnt to listen carefully to the answers she was given.

Anders shifted in his sleep, and Fenris tightened his hold. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. And…whatever he had done to mess things up with Hawke, he sincerely hoped that it could be undone. Maybe he should have spoken to Varric about it. His brow creased in thought – he had told Varric something, he was sure – but he’d been far too drunk to know exactly what, or remember any advice that Varric may have given him.

There was a movement against him, and a whimper. Anders head tossed, fingers gripping at Fenris’ chest as he mumbled incomprehensibly. Fenris recognised by now when Anders was having a nightmare, and soothed Anders’ hair back over his forehead, attempting to calm him. It didn’t work though, and Anders began to cry out, “No, don’t…”. Fenris gripped his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Wake up, Anders. You’re having a nightmare,” he said, softly. He found himself wishing that someone had been available to wake him from his nightmares in the past, then huffed, pushing the useless thought away. Anders’ blinked, waking suddenly with a cry.

“Fenris,” he said. “Oh, thank the Maker. You’re really here. I thought…I was dreaming of solitary. I was…I don’t think I’ve been doing very well for the last few days,” he mumbled the words into Fenris’ shoulder, reliving the days he had spent in the cell. He hadn’t reacted as badly as he had expected to, and he wasn’t sure why – was it Justice’s presence? He hadn’t been able to reach Justice with the magic dampening runes in the cell and the magebane in his blood, but perhaps Justice had been able to have a steadying influence on him anyway.

“You are stronger than you know, Anders,” Fenris rumbled in his ear, and Anders gave a weary laugh.

“Well, thank you. Thank you for coming for me,” he whispered the words into Fenris’ ear, and Fenris shivered at the feeling of warm breath on the tip of his ear, followed rapidly by the touch of soft, warm lips. He squirmed a little, and heard Anders giggle. He couldn’t help it though, elf ears were just so incredibly sensitive. It was somewhere between erotic and terribly ticklish, and he shoved Anders away, clutching his ear and trying not to wriggle like a child being tickled.

Anders was grinning at him, fully aware of what he had done, and Fenris kissed the smile off his face. There was no distracting Anders though, and he pulled Fenris closer with one hand, lips latching onto his ear-tip and sucking, kissing, licking until Fenris was gasping and laughing. “I didn’t think a great warrior like you would be so easy to distract, Fenris,” Anders teased. He trailed a finger down the shell of Fenris’ ear again and coaxed him closer.

“I believe we have some lost time to make up for, mage,” Fenris managed.

“Oh, back to mage again. I like to think when you say that to me, it’s no longer an insult,” Anders said, his tone light, betrayed only by the flash of apprehension that was so brief Fenris almost missed it.

“I…terms of endearment do not come easily to me,” he stuttered. Instead of talking, he decided to let his actions speak for him. He lifted himself, laying over Anders’ body, smirking at the happy little moan the movement elicited. He ran a hand up Anders’ side, calloused fingertips feathering over pale skin dusted with freckles. Nuzzling at Anders’ neck he sucked, brief but hard at the base of Anders’ neck, lapping over the mark with his tongue.

Anders rubbed his face into Fenris’ hair. “Are you marking me, elf?” he whispered.

“Mmm…mine,” Fenris’ voice with low, his features focussed as he looked into Anders’ eyes. “Are you mine, Anders?” he asked. Anders paused over a flippant comment, there was something fragile in Fenris’ gaze that he didn’t want to break.

“For as long as you want me, Fenris,” he said, softly. “I’m yours.” Something in this declaration sent a spike of arousal and protectiveness through Fenris. There were few things that he had ever been given or claimed for his own, but he thought that he wanted Anders to be one of them. Whatever was on his face gave him away, because Anders’ eyes darkened, and he tangled fingers in Fenris’ white hair, tugging gently to coax his mouth back. Fenris nipped and bit, leaving a row of teeth marks around the base of Anders’ neck, feeling the mage’s chest arch up into him as he threw his head back to allow the markings.

Little growls from Fenris mixed with Anders’ gasps and moans as their bodies moved together, trying to increase the friction between them. Fenris sat back, looking over the marks he had left on his mage’s skin, it was satisfying, he thought, this claiming of another as his own. He glared at Anders’ sleepshirt. “Off,” he demanded, and tugged at the offending article until Anders dragged it over his head, the muscles in his arms rippling as he did, Fenris let his lips curl up in approval. His mage was no weakling. His mage was…ridiculous. His shirt had tugged at his hair, and now he was a mess of blonde strands falling every which way around his face. Anders poked him in the belly to focus his attention back where he wanted it.

“Don’t make me wait, you bossy elf,” he said, and Fenris tugged his own shirt over his head, laying back over Anders, revelling in the feel of skin on skin. He slid a hand down to cup Anders’ ass, and squeezed. There was a tingling tug on his brands and Anders held out a hand of clear grease. He hmmed, slightly annoyed at the use of magic, but more than pleased with the grease.

Sitting back between Anders legs, he tucked his feet under him, knees wide so that he was pressed close to Anders’ body. Smoothly, he pushed Anders legs up and apart, and stroked a hand from his belly, down over his swollen cock, and under his balls. He dipped a finger in the grease and teased down Anders’ crease, finally slipping one finger inside. Anders soft groan pleased him, and he coated both hands in the grease, rubbing it slowly over Anders’ cock, massaging his balls until they were dripping, and Anders was pleading with him to stop teasing.

“Hush, Anders. You promised this would be at my pace, and today I choose slow.” He chuckled when Anders glared at him, the glare dissolving into an open-mouthed groan as Fenris wrapped a hand around his length and stroked hard from tip to base and back. Still stroking, he used his other hand to stretch Anders, slowly. Too slowly if he listened to the soft curses falling from Anders’ lips. He smirked, slipping a second finger alongside the first, and ran one hand in a caress down his side, over his hip to pinch at his inner thigh while he scissored his fingers, rubbing over Anders’ prostrate at the same time.

“Fenris,” Anders gasped. “Please, please…ahh, please Fen,” he babbled, pleasure cresting higher as precome leaked onto his belly. Fenris leaned in and lapped it up and Anders whined. Fenris wriggled forward unhurriedly, until he was pressed against Anders’ entrance, and leaned over, pulling Anders up with a fistful of hair so that he could kiss him as he pressed inside, other arm braced on Anders’ thigh. Anders’ mouth fell slack as Fenris entered him, and Fenris paused, allowing them both a minute of stillness to adjust.

“Fen, move, damn you,” Anders panted finally, and Fenris shifted, just enough to tease. “Maker, Fen, I’m not going to last long,” huffed Anders, as Fenris pulled back gradually, then finally thrust into him hard. He pulled Anders’ leg up until it was braced against his chest and used it for leverage, fucking him in earnest now, loving the sound of Anders’ desperate keening, peppered with ‘yes’ and ‘ahh’ and ‘please’ until Anders came with a wail. Fenris stroked him through it, milking his cock with warm, strong fingers until Anders whimpered with over-sensitivity. He grunted as Anders’ tightened around him, holding himself still, not wanting to let go yet.

Anders lay on the bed before him, legs wide and slack against the bed, face flushed and a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten. He looked debauched, and Fenris let his leg go so that he could lean over and lick at the sweat sheening Anders’ chest. His teeth found a nipple and he lapped and sucked at it, Anders fingers against his jaw, tangling with his hair, stroking his ears until he couldn’t be still any longer.

His hips bucked wildly as he let himself go, no longer afraid of hurting his lover. Anders urged him on as he drove in deep, all desire to go slowly gone. He threw his head yelling Anders name as he came, riding the waves of pleasure until he was panting, “Mine, mine,” against Anders’ chest, Anders’ arms around him holding him tight against him. They lay, tangled together until their hearts slowed and their breathing evened out.

Anders would have been happy to stay there all day, Fenris body warm and heavy over his, but a bang on the door and a fond chuckle had them both groaning. Isabela yelled from outside, “If you two are quite finished in there, there’s food in the galley. Last one there gets hardtack and bacon grease!” What they didn’t know, as they dragged themselves out of bed and into their clothes, was that that was what everyone was getting.


	9. Red and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - my keyboard has been out of action (driving me up the wall!!) All good now though. Have some happy stuff!!   
> Happy for Hawke and Bethany anyway!
> 
> Oh, and it's a real recipe for using hardtack from the 1800's!

Merrill and Varric knocked on Hawke’s door the morning after the ship left. Merrill looked apprehensive, and really Varric couldn’t blame her. Hawke had already given one apostate to the Templars, and while Merrill was a Dalish, that wouldn’t protect her now that she was living in Kirkwall, in the shadow of the Gallows. Varric had insisted that she leave her staff behind, and she rolled her shoulders – they felt too bare without the customary weight of her staff resting against them.

Varric raised his fist to bang on the door and almost punched Bodahn in the face as he opened it. “Oh, Messeres! I am very glad that you are here. I was just about to go and find that healer that Messere Hawke knows. He doesn’t seem to be himself this morning,” Bodahn bobbed his head nervously, braided beard swinging.

“Oh, Bodahn,” piped up Merrill, “what’s the matter with Hawke? We were just coming to visit him.”

“Ah, Mistress Merrill, very nice to see you. Messere Hawke is just…he doesn’t seem to be able to wake up this morning. Perhaps it’s a fever.” With that, Bodahn appeared to realise that he was blocking the way to the door, and stepped back to allow them in. Merrill looked around wide-eyed, though there had been no obvious changes to the place since they had last visited. Varric watched her with a fond smile as she bounced over to talk to Sandal.

“Enchantment!” Sandal said, excitedly, then began having a barked conversation with Hawke’s Mabari, Kegger. Anders had wanted to rename him Ser Slobber, but Hawke had just laughed at him. Varric scowled – better days.

“Come on, Daisy, let’s go have a chat with Hawke,” he muttered, distracting the little elf from Sandal’s enchanting equipment. Merrill skipped over with a sweet smile on her face that fell as she saw the scowl on Varric’s face. She seemed to remember the reason that they were there, and became terribly serious. It didn’t suit her Varric thought.

“Oh, Varric. I should probably be serious now, right? This is a good time to be serious isn’t it? Don’t worry, Varric. I’m sure it will be alright,” she patted him on the shoulder, and led the way up to Hawke’s bedroom. Varric followed, shaking his head.

\---------

Hawke struggled. It felt hard to breathe, and his hands clawed at his throat, scratching at a collar that only existed in his mind. He could hear laughter, a woman’s, high and cruel. If he could open his eyes, see who was there…but he couldn’t. He was trapped and he didn’t understand why his friends weren’t coming to save him.

\----------

Varric pushed open the door unceremoniously, timidly followed in by Merrill. Hawke was tangled in his red sheets, moaning. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hair was damp with it. He smelt unwashed, and Merrill wrinkled her nose a little. “Hawke, wake up,” Varric demanded, but the only response from Hawke was his hands scrabbling at his neck for a moment, before he whimpered and went still.

Merrill stepped closer, a frown on her face. “I don’t think he’s just sleeping, Varric,” she said, pretty forehead crinkling. She ran a finger along the tip of the small dagger she kept strapped to her thigh, shaking the blood into the air and using it to cast a spell. Varric sighed at the blood magic, but said nothing, watching carefully as Merrill concentrated.

Hawke’s body seemed to convulse for a moment, and Varric took a step closer, not sure if he should intervene. Merrill had her eyes closed now, hands moving over Hawke’s body. There was a brief moment when Varric though that Hawke had awakened, but whatever looked back at them from Hawke’s open eyes wasn’t the friend he’d grown to trust. It was something else.

Isabela was showing Keran how to eat hardtack when Fenris and Anders showed up in the galley. First she dipped the hard biscuits into water, then threw them into a frying pan with the bacon grease. A quick sizzle, and they were dished out onto plates and sprinkled with sugar. There was black coffee of tea to go with the hardtack, and for ships rations, it really wasn’t that bad.

Bethany was eating already, her face as calm as ever, and Anders couldn’t help but wince at the sight of her. Justice wanted to rage, and Anders kept a tight grip on Fenris’ hand, struggling to keep Justice containted. When Bethany looked up at him, Anders smiled and tried to treat her the way he always did, but it was hard with the memory of Karl. One thing that he could do for her though was to heal the still damaged skin where her forehead had been branded.

Forgetting that he was still holding Fenris’ hand, that Justice was still surging forward, he reached out a hand to Bethany’s forehead and sent a wave of healing magic into her skin. Instead of the normal soft blue glow, the swift healing of skin under his fingertips, Anders felt a tremendous surge of power sweep through him. His eyes rolled back as Justice took over. Distantly, he could hear Fenris screaming, distantly he was aware that something was wrong, but with Justice in control he was pushed into the recesses of his own mind. The wave of power rushed through him and away, and Anders fell into unconsciousness.

It took Isabela two hours to calm the captain of the ship. Friend or no, he had been ready to throw them overboard. He had already taken time from his crew that should have been shore-leave in Kirkwall. They had had no chance to reprovision, hence the hardtack for breakfast. Eventually he agreed to drop them in Highever, and they would need to find another ship after that to take them further.

Anders was still unconscious, Fenris lay with him, recovering from the massive pull on his brands that had left him screaming in agony. Keran, Templar recruit that he was, had wanted to kill Anders the moment his eyes had changed, only Isabela’s strong arm and sharp daggers stopping him from acting. And Bethany…Bethany was no longer Tranquil. And somehow Isabela was the one keeping all of these threads under control.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t manage a few difficulties – she was a ship’s Captain herself after all, just that these issues were a little more unusual than the normal rowdy sailors or brigands. But this was Isabela, rogue, thief, pirate Queen – she could cope with all of this before morning tea, right? Right? Questioning herself wasn’t high on Isabela’s list of fun things to do. hin up, and face to the storm - taking a deep breath she opened the door to the cabin that she shared with Bethany and Keran.

Bethany was having trouble with her emotions. She knew that she was, and yet knowing didn’t help her to control them at all. When Anders had reached out to her, she had reacted with equanimity, stilling herself so that he could touch her face. It was nothing to her. And then there had been a great flash of light, Anders eyes had been filled with Justice’s pulsing blue, and she had felt. She wasn’t sure what it was that she had felt – that she had felt was surprising enough. And yes, maybe that had been the first emotion. Then there had been Fenris screaming, and Keran shouting, Isabela keeping the Templar at bay with daggers, sailors yelling and the Captain, face livid. Bethany hadn’t known whether to run, to laugh, or to cry. So, she had taken the easiest course – all three.

She had fled the scene, slamming the cabin door behind herself before she collapsed to the floor, laughing and crying at the same time. Hysterical, the word whispered in the back of her mind. She was hysterical. Not long after, Isabela had bodily shoved Keran into the room, ordering him to do what a Templar does best and look after the mage. He had stared at her wide eyed, and fallen to his knees reciting the Chant of Light. Not particularly helpful, but neither was Bethany very keen on a Templar’s attentions right now anyway.

She had heard banging and scraping next door as Isabela and Fenris managed to get Anders to the bed, heard Fenris’ soft groans as he fell to the bed. Things had been quiet after that, though the voices of the Captain and Isabela could be heard, rising and falling like the swell beneath them. By the time Isabela pushed the door open two hours later, Bethany had somewhat come to herself. The hysterical laughing and crying had stopped, replaced by a quiet sobbing that she couldn’t seem to control.

Isabela’s arms around her were warm and soothing, soft skin and firm muscle, and Isabela’s hands stroking her hair and whispering soothing things into her ear. Even Keran’s low, monotonous chant was somehow comfortable to listen to. She lay her head on Isabela’s shoulder and wept quietly until Isabela coaxed her into a hammock, and she slept, able to dream for the first time in too long.

Varric stepped forward, taking Merrill be the elbow and slowly backing her away from Hawke’s bed as he sat, body moving as though he were a marionette – Varric shuddered at the sight. Hawke’s head turned to look at them, his eyes somehow vacant even as they scanned the room. His voice was hollow when he spoke. “Ah, the blood mage and the dwarf. Making a nuisance of yourselves, I see. No matter, I have learned what I need to know,” there was a sound like laughter, but Varric had never heard that sound from Hawke’s lips. It was a girlish giggle, and it somehow chilled him more than anything else that had happened.

Merrill moved forward again, and gripping Hawke’s head between her hands she sent a blast of magic through him, chasing the retreating blood-mage’s signature, making sure that Hawke was free of her hold. As she let go, Hawke collapsed back onto the bed, boneless. Varric swore. “What the hell was that, Daisy. A demon?”

“No Varric, Hawke has been the thrall of a blood-mage. A woman. I didn’t get much more. I’m sorry about that. But she’s not very close…” Merrill frowned, thinking about the feelings she had gotten as her consciousness chased the other mage. “Cold, dark, somewhere deep, I think. Not inside Kirkwall,” she added, a finger to her lip. “Perhaps somewhere on the Wounded Coast. Perhaps somewhere on Sundermount, in one of the caves. I can’t be sure. I’m very sorry, Varric.” She looked down at him with her big eyes, and Varric led her over to the chair to sit down.

“Don’t apologise, Daisy. You’ve set him free, and we know that he’s not been himself. That’s good to know.” Varric hummed thoughtfully. “I might get some of my contacts out to check out the caves and mines outside of Kirkwall.” He glanced at Hawke. He was still pissed about Anders and Fenris, but at least there had been a reason behind what had happened. And he was pretty sure that when Hawke woke up, he’d be more than a little bit pissed too.


	10. Nightmares and Emotions - sorry, no colours here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can things get any worse? Hopefully the guys will get a break soon, but today is not that day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. Essays and sickness and blah, real life. But here, have another chapter, and thanks for your patience!

Anders woke with the strange, fragmented feeling that told him Justice had taken control. His memory stopped at the moment of reaching out to touch the weeping scar of the Tranquil brand on Bethany’s forehead. He sat, holding his head in his hands. It ached, as though he’d spent the night healing until he fell, or had been drinking until he collapsed. He couldn’t imagine Justice drinking while in control though, and if there had been healing to do, Justice would have relinquished control to him – the spirit was strong, but he lacked the finesse for healing magic, his strengths ran rather to pulling enemies to pieces.

Anders let a trickle of healing magic run through his head, soothing the ache, and frowned at the scarcity of his mana. He was reasonably sure that it was morning, though it was hard to tell in the confines of the cabin, he felt well-rested though – his mana shouldn’t be lacking. Perhaps Fenris could fill him in…

Fenris was beside him on the bed. Anders stared at him for a moment. Fenris was laying – no laying was not the word. He was on his knees, torso curled over his legs, limbs tucked tightly into his body, head bowed down onto the mattress. Anders felt a frisson of fear watching him. Had Justice hurt Fenris? Because this was undeniably the position that someone would be in if they were about to be beaten, or the position a person damaged psychologically would take. This…he’d never seen Fenris like this before, and he felt that little whisper of fear again.

Justice himself was no help, refusing to answer when Anders tried to speak to him. His presence was…small – that was the only word Anders could find to describe it, a though Justice had tucked himself away into a corner of Anders’ mind. Anders was now definitely worried. If Justice had hurt Fenris…He turned his attention to the elf, touching his shoulder lightly and speaking softly to try to wake him up, but there was no response.

Danarius was angry. Fenris prostrated himself on the cold stone floor, clenching his teeth against the pain. He hated when Danarius drew on his markings, the pain was intense, unbearable, and he was not allowed to make a sound. Danarius like his little wolf silent. Fenris had sobbed, only once, but enough to draw Danarius wrath upon himself. Master had had company, and Fenris was in disgrace.

“If you cannot control yourself, I will have my apprentice take over your training for a month to teach you better,” the magister ground out. His feet approached, and Fenris dared to reach a hand out to touch Danarius’ slipper in supplication. His effort didn’t go unnoticed, but neither was it appreciated. A fist in his hair dragged his head back, and he was quick to drop his eyes lest he accidentally look at his Master’s face.

“You wish to please your Master, do you not, little wolf?” Danarius said. His tone of voice– loving and sweet, but with an undertone of violence - Fenris was all too familiar with. His whimpered ‘yes Master’ did nothing to cool Danarius’ ire. The hand fisted in his hair pushed him forward roughly, his head hit the stone floor, and the markings on his feet and knees burned as his legs scraped on the ground.

“Come to my rooms later, when you are better able to show obedience.” A slippered foot kicked him roughly in the shoulder and he fell to his side, still curled tightly on himself, eyes squeezed shut.

“Yes Master,” he whispered. As Danarius’ footsteps withdrew, another set drew near. Hadriana. Fenris didn’t dare to open his eyes, didn’t dare to move. He felt the movement of air as she leaned closer to him, then fingers cruelly pinching his ear.

“Scream for him, Fenris,” she said. “I would enjoy a month to play with you,” she laughed, harsh and mocking. He didn’t reply – there was never a chance of pleasing Hadriana. He struggled to keep his breathing even as she pinched the tip of his ear hard, nails digging into the sensitive flesh and cartilage. He felt a drop of warm blood run down the length of his ear before she released him, twisting her fingers to cause as much pain as possible before she let go.

He would go to Master. He would be good for his master, silent and obedient. Anything to avoid Hadriana. Anything.

Fenris whimpered in his sleep, shuddering as Anders hand touched him. He curled more tightly, and Anders snatched his hand away as though it were burned.

“Yes, Master,” he heard Fenris say, voice a low, rough whisper. Anders stared at him, stricken. What had Justice done? He reached out again, then clenched his fingers before they could touch Fenris. What to do? He didn’t want to leave Fenris in this dream…but he didn’t want to traumatise him with touch either. With a guilty feeling he held his hands out over Fenris’ back, letting gentle healing magic slip over his skin. Fenris shuddered violently, his whole body seeming to clench itself even smaller.

Anders swore. “Wake up, you blighted elf,” he groused, frustrated at not knowing what to do. Of course, that was a bad idea. Fenris’ fingers clenched as he whimpered again, and whispered.

“Parebo. Dimitte me dominus.” _I obey, forgive me master_ , Anders translated quietly to himself.

Maker, he was going to kill Justice if he had hurt Fenris. This couldn’t be happening. In any case…perhaps he should find Isabela and ask her to try to wake Fenris. Isabela could probably tell him what had happened too. He wanted to pat Fenris’ shoulder, to soothe him…but he recalled the whimpers, the whispers, the shudder at the touch of his magic, and instead just sighed as he made his way out onto the deck, leaving Fenris curled up tight on the bed.

 Isabela was at the railing, and Anders joined her, hands clenching tightly on the rail. He’d never been good with boats, he was just lucky that he wasn’t suffering from seasickness this time. Isabela turned, casually leaning back against the rail, wind blowing her hair back out over the water.

“So…what happened?” Ander asked, afraid of the answer.

“Is Fenris awake yet?” Isabela asked. “He didn’t seem too well when we put you to bed.” Anders frowned. So there had been a problem with Fenris. He shook his head.

“No. Actually…I came up here to ask if you could go and sit with him. He’s…I think he thinks I’m his master. He was talking in Tevene…’forgive me Master, Yes Master’. What happened ‘Bela? What did Justice do to him? I’ll never forgive him if he’s hurt Fenris again!”

Anders thumped the railing with his hand, then swore at himself as a splinter drove into the soft flesh of his palm. Served him right. Isabela was watching him, her usual soft smile absent, and the shadow of a frown on her face.

“Well…the good news is that Justice healed Bethany,” she said, watching him carefully for any flashes of blue.

“Healed Bethany? Her scar…I remember trying to heal the scar, and then…Justice just rushed threw me, I didn’t have any control,” Anders was frustrated, wishing Isabela would just give him a straight answer. She looked at him carefully, he seemed to be in control now.

“No. I mean Justice healed Bethany. She’s not Tranquil anymore.” Isabela felt like laughing as Anders gaped at her.

“How…that’s not possible? What…?”

“When you leaned forward to touch her and Justice came forth – you were holding onto Fenris, and Fenris lit up like a damn lighthouse. He was screaming, Anders. I think maybe Justice really did hurt him.”

“Fuck…Fucking Maker forsaken spirit! That’s twice now he’s hurt Fenris. I…”Anders cut himself off mid-rant. There was nothing he could do to separate himself from Justice apart from killing himself – nothing that he knew of anyway. But when Justice stopped hiding, well, there would be words.

“I’ll go check on Fenris, alright? Perhaps you could go and spend some time with Bethany. Seems all her emotions decided to play havoc with her last night. It took hours for me to calm her down. Oh, and avoid Keran. He wants to kill the abomination,” Isabela threw Anders a grin and wandered off. Anders gnawed at the splinter in his hand as he swore to himself. Could things go worse for them. Lately there hadn’t been a day without something horrible happening. He straightened his shoulders, spat out the splinter and went to find Bethany.


End file.
